Legend of Ransera

With a half-empty bottle of red wine swinging at his side, the Crown Prince of the Umbrium sauntered into his bedchamber and plopped down with a sigh. He had fulfilled his duty and entertained the Zaichæri delegation with aplomb and continued drinking with his cousins after they'd left, but now that he was left to his own devices he found that he wasn't tired. He disrobed lazily, having dismissed the valets who might have otherwise helped him out of his vestments, and hung his crumpled clothes over the backs of chairs and tucked them under tables. He rewarded himself for his independence with a swig of wine as he padded over to his bed and placed the bottle down on his nightstand as he crawled onto the mattress with a sigh. Falling onto his back, he scooted himself back so he was seated upright against the headboard and crossed his legs before him, one hand rubbing the arch of his foot absently.

"Zaichær." He said aloud to no one, as he pondered the place that had been the subject of the evening. He'd never seriously considered visiting the so-called 'High City of the North'. The tales he'd heard by and large sounded too much like the slum in which he'd been reared, but the High Admiral's take on the place had made it more appealing. He'd all but formally accepted an invitation to visit, at this point, which set the wheels of his curiosity spinning. His tipsy mind turned, as it often did, to Aurin and on this occasion it was for good reason. He had a relationship with the place and might have insight as to how he might pay a visit that didn't cost him more than he was willing to countenance.

It was such a simple thing to reach out to Aurin, through their preternatural connection. It was a wonder he didn't do it more often. But he did it tonight, with a simple query more wondered than presented:

"...you up?"