TIMESTAMP: 18 Hunter's Bounty, 123
NOTES: acceptance of this
NOTES: acceptance of this
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After the night’s festivities had wound down and all the guests had left, one couldn’t say for certain if aught had changed with regard to peoples’ opinions; much of that information was expected to be revealed in the days to come. But need it be of any true consequence?
Because come the next morning, there was an unexpected knock at the door of House Sælyan’s Umbrian estate. Greeting the porter was a moonborn servus; a pale, raven-haired man of ambiguous elven age who looked at the gilded porter with an incredulous expression. For what business did one wearing the colors of the Luxian Crown have here? Nevertheless, the servus’ only place was to ask for whom did the porter seek.
And when he did, he was told to ask after both Dominus Janus and Æros; while the former was awake, he did not like to be bothered in the mornings at this point; the latter, however, having overestimated the tolerance of the flesh he borrowed by night’s end, was still asleep. He thought for a moment, before asking if just Janus would do, as he was, after all, the paterfamilias– all decisions were ultimately his. But even still, the porter was wholly insistent that both men must be present.
"Fine," the servus said, "...but hold, please." He knew better than to push further– the porter's orders, however odd, were granted by royalty.
At the porter's nod, he would invite the other in to a sitting room and then recede further into the manse's darkened interior, intent on fetching those who'd been summoned. Janus was simple to find; a man of two centuries was not without his habits. Perturbed though he was by the disturbance, the proposed explanation nonetheless intrigued him. He instructed the moonborn servus to return to him here once he had Æros in tow.
The young noble awoke to gentle nudging and a familiar face, though he was immediately puzzled as to why. To his understanding, there was nothing that morning that ought to be demanding his attention, and yet, bright and early, here someone was. Part of him felt reflexive anger, and yet, shooting the messenger never served anyone. He stirred, slightly hungover and a bit delirious, from his slumber. Æros was not used to this form, either, but as days flit by, he realized that sans true resurrection, he might never spend enough time in one form or another to truly 'get used' to it. Shaking the discomfort of that thought and coming to his senses, he inquired upon the urgency of the servus' stated business and when the man insisted, Æros, begrudgingly, pulled himself together.
It was when the servus brought the apparition to the older politician that he was then dismissed, free to once again go about his standard duties while the aforementioned two made their way through to the foyer and then to the room within which waited the porter. With both requested parties present, the porter presented what missive he'd been entrusted with. The timing felt a bit strange to be receiving word from the Luxian Crown, but nonetheless, their only choice was to read it.
With Æros peering over at the parchment in his uncle's hands, Janus was deft with the removal of the seal and quick to open it. The words within drew upon his features a far more subtle expression when compared to the surprise writ upon the visage of the possessed, though both men felt the emotion nigh equally. But before either of them had a moment to process that which they had just read, the missive would disintegrate. The parchment became dusted gold, coruscant and glinting in a breeze that did not exist before fading away into nothing with only the scent of incense lingering where it once was.
Æros was shocked into total silence.
Janus would look to the porter. "Thank you; your services are no longer needed. Give our regards to your masters," his words serving to dismiss the man from their demesne.
The porter would nod, bow, and then leave without another word.
Janus had imagined that the Luxian Crown would have their opinions on the strange, preternatural circumstances surrounding Æros’ passing and subsequent return. That they would so directly make it their business, however, was something of a surprise. Although, it was worth noting that this missive was penned and signed by Arkænyn alone– the degree of involvement by other Luxian royalty was at this point still up in the air.
In the ensuing moments, Janus could perceive full well the gamut of emotion than ran through his nephew’s Symphony, odd as it was to hear it overtop the muffled, nigh dormant Symphony of the person he possessed. In these more intimate environs, Æros made little attempt to mask the song of his soul, for doing so would ultimately be a pointless exercise – Janus’ arcane prowess dwarfed his own. Between the two of them, such a thing was mutually understood, but all the same, it was still expected of Æros to give voice to his thoughts, and the look the older of the two wore said as much.
It should also be noted that Æros had not told his uncle about the circumstances of his resurrection since that had been divinely hidden, but the circumstances of his death? No such luck, there– any Sembler capable of accurately sifting through memories could find those moments when his Aura was unguarded, and Janus had done so. Of course, Æros wasn’t eager to wax poetic about his death; it had been an insidious mix of sentiment, faith, and obduracy that had guided that blade ‘cross his throat, and those memories dredged up a complex miasma of feeling, which, though heavily nuanced, was composed mostly of shame.
And while Janus cannot accurately verify the veracity of Æros’ claims of divine intervention once he’d bled out, he did want to believe him. Further, Finn’s strange comments about Shæoth the night before had certainly not been forgotten, nor had the human’s use of wholly divine feeling magic. Why would Finn say that along with the use of such novel abilities if something grander hadn’t happened?
When Æros finally did speak, “I…we were quick to endorse the Umbrian Crown; to switch feels foolish, tantamount to a, uh…a betrayal. Would it not make our loyalties look shallow were we to do so within a year of the city’s split?” Æros began, trying to justify why he wanted to decline the deal without outright saying that most of it was his friendship to Arvælyn.
“We were, yes– and we did so because as a family, our politics aligned more harmoniously with the Umbrian Crown. At the time, that was the most pragmatic choice for our house.
“But hide not your true feelings. I hear your trepidation, your hesitation, the value you place on what ties you have to the dragon prince– I do, and I understand, Æros…but I also hear how badly you wish that your loyalty and that friendship mattered enough for him to intervene on your behalf. That is not what fate holds, is it?” And for a moment, that question sat in the silence between them.
“Næ– instead, the prince to hear your words and wish to endorse you is not Arvælyn but Arkænyn. And Arkænyn believes you whilst having no prior ties to bias him in your favor, at that. While I understand the appeal in following sentiment, look at what you’ve gained from doing that, nepos.” These words, though delivered reassuringly, weighed heavy.
“Because of sentiment, you not only walked boldly into death, but death in the Void,” and in the latter portion of that sentence, the gentleness in his voice hardened, anger bleeding into the words.
“...you claim to have thrown your fate into the balanced hands of our Founders, but what purpose beyond sentiment did doing so serve?” While he was clearly far from pleased, Janus’ voice remained level in volume.
“So do you really want to use sentiment as the justification for making another major decision?” The question was pointed. “Do you want to do that here, when, instead, the offer extended by Arkænyn princeps would give not just you, but your kin, objectively higher station? Know you the weight having his backing would carry?”
Again, Æros was quiet for a bit. “...but what of the others in the Luxian Senate? Won’t we have to bend some of our views to be more in line with theirs?”
“What for? Unless you mean to imply Arkænyn a liar, he claims to seek ‘bold voices’ and ‘keen minds.’ Sacrifice none of our, none of your beliefs– to be vouched for by royalty is a privileged position. From it, seek not to bend yourself, but to bend others, instead.” Janus would place a hand on Æros’ shoulder, and odd as it was to see his nephew in the features of another, such a thing did not detract from his sincerity.
“We’ll speak on this again later; when the porter arrived, I was in the middle of something I need to get back to. But please, think about it, Æros. I want you and I to be of one mind on this choice, but if not, I will decide that which is best for us all.” And with that, Janus would depart.
He did, genuinely, want to give Æros some time to grapple with the scenario– ideally, the boy would come ‘round to see his side on his own. Nevertheless, come the dawn of the new season, Searing, the two of them would approach the Luxian palace, asking after Arkænyn specifically under the assumption that the man would know why they were there.
Because come the next morning, there was an unexpected knock at the door of House Sælyan’s Umbrian estate. Greeting the porter was a moonborn servus; a pale, raven-haired man of ambiguous elven age who looked at the gilded porter with an incredulous expression. For what business did one wearing the colors of the Luxian Crown have here? Nevertheless, the servus’ only place was to ask for whom did the porter seek.
And when he did, he was told to ask after both Dominus Janus and Æros; while the former was awake, he did not like to be bothered in the mornings at this point; the latter, however, having overestimated the tolerance of the flesh he borrowed by night’s end, was still asleep. He thought for a moment, before asking if just Janus would do, as he was, after all, the paterfamilias– all decisions were ultimately his. But even still, the porter was wholly insistent that both men must be present.
"Fine," the servus said, "...but hold, please." He knew better than to push further– the porter's orders, however odd, were granted by royalty.
At the porter's nod, he would invite the other in to a sitting room and then recede further into the manse's darkened interior, intent on fetching those who'd been summoned. Janus was simple to find; a man of two centuries was not without his habits. Perturbed though he was by the disturbance, the proposed explanation nonetheless intrigued him. He instructed the moonborn servus to return to him here once he had Æros in tow.
The young noble awoke to gentle nudging and a familiar face, though he was immediately puzzled as to why. To his understanding, there was nothing that morning that ought to be demanding his attention, and yet, bright and early, here someone was. Part of him felt reflexive anger, and yet, shooting the messenger never served anyone. He stirred, slightly hungover and a bit delirious, from his slumber. Æros was not used to this form, either, but as days flit by, he realized that sans true resurrection, he might never spend enough time in one form or another to truly 'get used' to it. Shaking the discomfort of that thought and coming to his senses, he inquired upon the urgency of the servus' stated business and when the man insisted, Æros, begrudgingly, pulled himself together.
It was when the servus brought the apparition to the older politician that he was then dismissed, free to once again go about his standard duties while the aforementioned two made their way through to the foyer and then to the room within which waited the porter. With both requested parties present, the porter presented what missive he'd been entrusted with. The timing felt a bit strange to be receiving word from the Luxian Crown, but nonetheless, their only choice was to read it.
With Æros peering over at the parchment in his uncle's hands, Janus was deft with the removal of the seal and quick to open it. The words within drew upon his features a far more subtle expression when compared to the surprise writ upon the visage of the possessed, though both men felt the emotion nigh equally. But before either of them had a moment to process that which they had just read, the missive would disintegrate. The parchment became dusted gold, coruscant and glinting in a breeze that did not exist before fading away into nothing with only the scent of incense lingering where it once was.
Æros was shocked into total silence.
Janus would look to the porter. "Thank you; your services are no longer needed. Give our regards to your masters," his words serving to dismiss the man from their demesne.
The porter would nod, bow, and then leave without another word.
Janus had imagined that the Luxian Crown would have their opinions on the strange, preternatural circumstances surrounding Æros’ passing and subsequent return. That they would so directly make it their business, however, was something of a surprise. Although, it was worth noting that this missive was penned and signed by Arkænyn alone– the degree of involvement by other Luxian royalty was at this point still up in the air.
In the ensuing moments, Janus could perceive full well the gamut of emotion than ran through his nephew’s Symphony, odd as it was to hear it overtop the muffled, nigh dormant Symphony of the person he possessed. In these more intimate environs, Æros made little attempt to mask the song of his soul, for doing so would ultimately be a pointless exercise – Janus’ arcane prowess dwarfed his own. Between the two of them, such a thing was mutually understood, but all the same, it was still expected of Æros to give voice to his thoughts, and the look the older of the two wore said as much.
It should also be noted that Æros had not told his uncle about the circumstances of his resurrection since that had been divinely hidden, but the circumstances of his death? No such luck, there– any Sembler capable of accurately sifting through memories could find those moments when his Aura was unguarded, and Janus had done so. Of course, Æros wasn’t eager to wax poetic about his death; it had been an insidious mix of sentiment, faith, and obduracy that had guided that blade ‘cross his throat, and those memories dredged up a complex miasma of feeling, which, though heavily nuanced, was composed mostly of shame.
And while Janus cannot accurately verify the veracity of Æros’ claims of divine intervention once he’d bled out, he did want to believe him. Further, Finn’s strange comments about Shæoth the night before had certainly not been forgotten, nor had the human’s use of wholly divine feeling magic. Why would Finn say that along with the use of such novel abilities if something grander hadn’t happened?
When Æros finally did speak, “I…we were quick to endorse the Umbrian Crown; to switch feels foolish, tantamount to a, uh…a betrayal. Would it not make our loyalties look shallow were we to do so within a year of the city’s split?” Æros began, trying to justify why he wanted to decline the deal without outright saying that most of it was his friendship to Arvælyn.
“We were, yes– and we did so because as a family, our politics aligned more harmoniously with the Umbrian Crown. At the time, that was the most pragmatic choice for our house.
“But hide not your true feelings. I hear your trepidation, your hesitation, the value you place on what ties you have to the dragon prince– I do, and I understand, Æros…but I also hear how badly you wish that your loyalty and that friendship mattered enough for him to intervene on your behalf. That is not what fate holds, is it?” And for a moment, that question sat in the silence between them.
“Næ– instead, the prince to hear your words and wish to endorse you is not Arvælyn but Arkænyn. And Arkænyn believes you whilst having no prior ties to bias him in your favor, at that. While I understand the appeal in following sentiment, look at what you’ve gained from doing that, nepos.” These words, though delivered reassuringly, weighed heavy.
“Because of sentiment, you not only walked boldly into death, but death in the Void,” and in the latter portion of that sentence, the gentleness in his voice hardened, anger bleeding into the words.
“...you claim to have thrown your fate into the balanced hands of our Founders, but what purpose beyond sentiment did doing so serve?” While he was clearly far from pleased, Janus’ voice remained level in volume.
“So do you really want to use sentiment as the justification for making another major decision?” The question was pointed. “Do you want to do that here, when, instead, the offer extended by Arkænyn princeps would give not just you, but your kin, objectively higher station? Know you the weight having his backing would carry?”
Again, Æros was quiet for a bit. “...but what of the others in the Luxian Senate? Won’t we have to bend some of our views to be more in line with theirs?”
“What for? Unless you mean to imply Arkænyn a liar, he claims to seek ‘bold voices’ and ‘keen minds.’ Sacrifice none of our, none of your beliefs– to be vouched for by royalty is a privileged position. From it, seek not to bend yourself, but to bend others, instead.” Janus would place a hand on Æros’ shoulder, and odd as it was to see his nephew in the features of another, such a thing did not detract from his sincerity.
“We’ll speak on this again later; when the porter arrived, I was in the middle of something I need to get back to. But please, think about it, Æros. I want you and I to be of one mind on this choice, but if not, I will decide that which is best for us all.” And with that, Janus would depart.
He did, genuinely, want to give Æros some time to grapple with the scenario– ideally, the boy would come ‘round to see his side on his own. Nevertheless, come the dawn of the new season, Searing, the two of them would approach the Luxian palace, asking after Arkænyn specifically under the assumption that the man would know why they were there.
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"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
"Vastien Tongue/Speech"
"Valasren Tongue/Speech"
"Common Tongue/Speech"
