Atharen, A Fantasy Roleplay Forum

Posted: **Fri May 08, 2020 7:42 am**

46th of Glade, Year 120

"Buenas, amigo. Dónde está la Universidad de..." he paused. "En...valise? Perdón, yo no..."

"Elio!" his sister interjected. "Ya no estas en Railón, sabes? Además, no es una universidad. Te lo dije."

"Then what is it, Reina?" asked the Kalen. The woman rolled her eyes.

"It's an academy. If you had read the books Lady Garcez had left us -- or if you were at least functionally literate, or even intelligent -- you would understand the difference." The woman turned to the man Areas had approached, bowing her head slightly in apology. "Je suis désolé, monsieur." Then, taking her brother's hand, she skittered off.

"Dónde está Gian?" the Courvagne brother asked, as the two jogged across the cobbled stones of Amoren's city square. They stopped before long, the central fountain still in view, his sister offering one of the Veir nearby a curious glance. The woman then turned to Areas, before lightly - playfully - slapping him on the cheek. The Raillen man cocked a wide grin. "Coño."

"Practice. You understand Common well enough, so you may as well use it here. It's considered uncouth in Gentevarese courts to be swinging your Raillen around all day; it makes others wonder if you sympathize with Elias' insular views. You and I are from Railon, especially; the scrutiny upon us is increased." She paused, looking around. "Anyhow, no idea where Gian is. Probably half-way into some maid. Or valet. You and I both know why he comes with us to Amoren, and it's not for the Candor."

His grin not subsiding, the Raillen man nodded to his sister before glancing towards the man who had previously caught her eye. "Ah, that's Lord-Veir Giovanni Sclare. A suitor for you, isn't he?"

"Yes. If you had attended the Wintry Accord, however, you would have heard that his mother recently fell into an exceptional scandal. She is mentally unwell, it seems; paranoid of vast conspiracies against her, implicating even her children in such assertive claims. Their family has fractured in two, and so his future is fairly uncertain. I don't know if I..."

"Want to marry someone from a similar family as ours?" Elio interjected. "Fragmented; weakened. Reina, it's a perfect match. You may be beautiful -- but half of that is from Necromantic surgery. You always try to match above your station. Giovanni Sclare is likely much more willing to marry you now than he was at the last Blooming Glen. I think you should consider it."

"Perhaps," she replied. "For now," the woman continued, "I will leave you to your own devices. Avoid the Raillen, oui? Perhaps you should start learning Gentevarese. It's a good time to do it -- the linguists are a farthing an hour in the slums, I heard. They're cheaper than the whores."

The Veir laughed. "Not Gian's whores."

- - -

Absent one academy, Elio had wandered toward the common hall, where some members of the Entente got into small gatherings in anticipation of upcoming soirees and other such events. Last time he'd come to the hall, he himself had been offered the intrigue of a suitor's details. In general, it was a vain meet-and-greet filled with useless courtiers, the less experienced wishing to practice their Candor among other people with little to lose, threaten or gain. Elio, however, felt far from enticed by these games even once he'd arrived at his destination. The sun had begun to set; he missed home. As beautiful as Amoren could be, there was nothing like eastern Couronne, along the coastline. He missed his people.

In Levarin, modesty laws were still viable, but with so many culturally allowable exceptions. Here, he was wearing a tight suit with an overcoat, his hair trapped within the confines of a beret. It was fairly cool, so he did not mind the extra layers. But he wanted to swim, to feel the sun's glow upon his skin by the hills. These galas were not vacations; they were work, and a sort that was brutal and dangerous, capable of causing long-lasting damage and implications upon one's self. He was, always while in this city, somewhat afraid.

Leaned against the stone column at the entrance to the common area, Elio began to pray to Ulen, closing his eyes in order to do so. He hoped for strength. For the thing he had never really had.

Posted: **Fri May 08, 2020 9:12 am**

The muscles between Talon’s shoulder blades twitched. It took a monumental amount of mental effort to stop himself from stretching and relaxing his wings. A nervous habit that he’d been quietly told is a dead giveaway that he is uncomfortable. It was one of the many things that the Lady Ald had whispered to him during one of the smaller social gatherings he’d been made to attend the evening prior. He’d been in Amoren for just over a week and already he was beginning to grow weary of the constant posturing. It was enough to drive a man mad with the amount of whispers and glances that his mere passage through the halls brought. Mercifully, he’d been gently being guided through the art of what was known as the Candor. It was the game of politics and intrigue that Daravin’s nobles partook in. The small amount of it that Talon had been exposed to already made him want to seclude himself away in a library and speak only to Aoren and only Lady Brilan. That was not why he was in Daravin however. Matters of statecraft and courtly politics were important in the rearing of an heir, Talon knew this on an intellectual level.

So he swallowed his distaste for the endless game of posturing and careful interrogation and played by its rules to the best of his ability. Which was to say, he was doing poorly.

“You look tired.” Talon glanced at his companion who was walking beside him. The broad-shouldered Kathar had an impassive look on his face but his eyes were alert. Aoren’s gaze settled on him and he could feel the man’s concern. Surprisingly, his companion fared much better in matters of these cutthroat politics than he did. Then again, Aoren was from Lorien. Talon could only imagine the manner of his upbringing or rather, he couldn’t fathom such a cold and callous upbringing.

“How do these people live like this?” It was mind boggling to Talon. He spoke in a very soft voice that only Aoren might hear him. Even still, he was wary of speaking about this at all. It seemed that every topic he brought up was somehow out of place or had a level of inappropriateness that needed to be carefully navigated.

“It is a different place, Your Highness.” Aoren spoke just as softly. Talon resisted the urge to sigh. Ever since coming to Daravin, Aoren had insisted on referring to him only by honorifics in public. He schooled his posture and face to not show his discomfort. It was yet another thing he had to grow accustomed to. He was beginning to see just how drastically different the cultures beyond Kalzasi were. “The Entente and Daravin place value on these things. They are valuable in the Empire and we are in one of the most powerful Imperial Courts. So we must play our part to the benefit of our host.”

Talon thought back to a conversation that he’d had not but the season past. It brought with it a sting but also a kernel of truth. A discussion of the privilege of station and how that obscured the lens by which one viewed the world. Talon was the firstborn son of his homeland’s sovereign. While he was held to very strict tenants of honor and was expected to be an example to the people, a steward of his city, he was afforded many liberties that commoners were not. The freedom and also the constraints of his station had never been clearer to him than when he set foot in Couronne. He was royalty, minor royalty of no consequence to Imperial interest but royalty nevertheless. Couple this with the fact that he is an Avialae, a figure of rarity in the Empire outside of conflict with Lorien, and that made him a curiosity. A curiosity that was a guest of the Treveyn. In his homeland he could be the personable and empathetic individual that he was. Who would contradict him? None. He was his father’s heir. In Daravin? He could not afford to expose his hostess to things viewed as a liability and diminishment of her position. For while he was royalty and thus of curious interest to these courtiers, he was also nobody and Kalzasi paled in comparison to the might of Daravin.

Talon let out a breath.

“I need some time to think.” Talon stepped out into the open air and spread his wings. He leapt up into the sky taking flight, rising higher until he could feel only the winds upon his face. Beside him, he heard Aoren silently following. That was another thing he was getting accustomed to, never being unattended. He soared, following the currents of the air until he spotted his destination. It was one of the first places that he’d been introduced to upon coming to Couronne, a place where inexperience with the Candor was not only accepted but expected. With a few beats of his wings, Talon descended and landed with relative ease. He experienced no difficulty in finding his footing. His boots landed solidly upon the ground with nary a trace of fault in his form. Standing to his full height, Talon folded his wings behind him and began walking to the courtyard of the common hall. The high columns but open design of the building reminded him slightly of home.

The Novalys heir did not miss the slight gasps and whispers of his approach. It was, as he noted earlier, becoming normal. Even in Atinaw he’d come to realize just how rare it was to see one of his people outside of their individual homelands of Lorien and Kalzasi. Perhaps, he thought, there was some truth to the stories of his people being hunted. He dismissed those thoughts for the time being.

Talon was dressed extremely conservative for a Kalzasern but in a manner due his station. A long black coat with carefully embroidered gold stitching bordering the buttons. A high collar covered his neck. The belts and sash around his waist were of fine make and helped to keep the vest and shirt beneath the coat in fine order. His black pants were tucked into his knee high boots. The elegant embroidery that surrounded the back of the coat where the cloth was woven to cover his wings, cleverly hid buttons that allowed Talon to remove the coat from the back. Open in the front this coat might have been but it was not made to be taken off in such a manner. He had to give it to the tailors of Kalzasi, they were well practiced in designing clothing suited for winged folk. The overall aesthetic of the outfit gave a militant appearance and highlighted the tell-tale fairness of Talon’s skin and the presence of his Siltori heritage. Appearances, as he’d been told, mattered greatly to the nobility of Daravin. So he would keep up appearances to the best of his ability.

“Wonders never cease!” A young woman was approaching Talon. She was dressed in the fashions of Daravin, which to his eyes was grossly opulent to the point of dizzying. The amount of jewels and the puff of her dress, collar and sleeves made Talon question her ability to stand upright. Overall, Talon got the impression that she was trying very hard to project an air of pomp that she did not possess.

So we begin.

“It is a pleasure to meet one of the winged men of our neighbors. That was quite a magnificent display. Please, Sir, do delight in our company. We would know more of you and where you hail from. I am Lady Gertruda de’Cabret.” She smiled sweetly at Talon but there was an edge to that smile. Talon also got the impression she was waiting for him to do something. Beside her, a young lady whom he could only assume was one of her handmaidens cleared her throat softly before speaking to Talon.

“Sir, it is customary to bow to nobility in Daravin upon introduction.” Talon arched an eyebrow. This woman had made several guesses. He reasoned she believed him one of the Kathar from Lorien and thus, if rumors to be believed, a common soldier. He supposed his attire gave that impression quite well. He needed to work on his appearances it seemed. So it must have stood to reason to both of them that he was, in fact, not nobility. Added to the fact that he was where he was and thus he was inexperienced with the Candor and Daravin’s customs.

“You honor me, Lady de’Cabret, by offering such a forthright explanation of greetings in fair Daravin. I am happy to accept your courtesy and will return it in kind.” The brief look of confusion on both women’s faces said to Talon he had reasoned correctly enough. It was then that Aoren introduced him.

“His Highness, Talon Alexios Novalys, of House Novalys. Firstborn of Savien, Sovereign of Kalzasi of the Free Cities of Karnor.” Talon offered the women little more than a nod of his head after their blundered introduction. He supposed this woman’s apparent youth was not just skin deep.

“Excuse me, Ladies.” With that, Talon turned to find a place where he could quietly go over some of the norms he’d learned about the Candor. At least, it seemed, his practice had started.

-------------------

“That is likely not a safe topic of discussion.” Aoren, yet again, reminded him of some of the rules that had been explained concerning the Candor.

“By the Lady, I do not think I will ever get the hang of this.” Talon sighed heavily as he paced back and forth trying to go over some of the customs and courtesies. Aoren chuckled.

“Heresy, is also dangerous here.” Talon shot his companion a dirty look which earned him another chuckle.

“Then I suppose I shall just be a silent statue my duration here?” Talon glared at his companion who merely shrugged. The Novalys heir threw his hands up and stretched his wings.

“It is hopeless.” Talon seated himself on a bench and ran his hands over his face. Quietly he began going through the list of do’s and do not’s and went through scenarios in his head on how to navigate them.

Posted: **Sun May 17, 2020 10:26 am**

It was difficult not to notice the man, sat upon a stone bench, looking as desperately as he; but one that was certainly far from ordinary here, a man from another land. He could feel the slightest emotional impulse, though he struggled to discern whether it was just his own. Sometimes, Elio felt feedback from his own thoughts and his own worries, and projected them onto others. He had no idea what the other man was feeling, or thinking: he only knew that it would have been comfortable to imagine that they were much the same. Isolated. At least that way, even as a distant stranger, he could relate to someone here.

The women around him, gathering into a circle of chattering hens, were all speaking Gentevarese. He couldn't understand it. As related to his own language as it was, all of the slurring and soft, blended words frustrated his ears. He pulled the beret further down towards his ears, as if he could tune it all out. It was a strange instinct, largely driven by his anxiety. The Half-Kalen part of him always grew incredibly stressed by the Candor; all of the emotions swelling around him, moving in a constant flux of elation, fear, anxiety, and an almost primal aggression. The Veir often cursed his Dratori ancestry for the mad-man it often made him appear; he still had not learned to properly channel it, and it often left him fumbling. He wish he knew how.

Driven by a simple impulse, the man stepped towards the bench upon which the unknown, winged man was seated. There was another beside him, still interesting - both of them appeared to be Avialae, an incredibly rare breed in the Empire. Particularly in places such as Railon, insulated from the world's northern fringes. A naturally curious soul, Areas was interested in them both.

"Hello," he greeted the two, bearing his somewhat-subtle, but noticeable Raillen accent. They would perhaps at least decipher that he was of a different background to the majority of the Nobility here; the others were much lighter in their tone, so much so that their laughter reminded him of the chirping of birds. "Lovely time to be seated all sullenly, yes? Right prior to a soiree. If your goal is to avoid the consequences of the Candor, the last thing you should do is escape to the fringes. It is where people most often look."

And judge.

Areas extended a hand. "I am Areas Elio Courvagne. You may call me Areas, Re, Elio, or Veir Courvagne. Are you that... guest the larks have been chattering about? A sort of... ward to Lady Ash? If so, my condolences. The Entente are an overwhelming crowd - and no more-so than in Amoren, and Couronne. This is a place most experienced players of the Candor often dread coming to; it's terrifying. The things that come unveiled."

He tried to be open -- truthful perhaps, of his own fears. As the son of a man who once ruled this place, now the heir to a shamed and dying lineage, he had many. Areas was always whispered of when he came to this place, speculated on and demeaned to that of House Narvaez's token. In some ways, they were two maligned wards coming together. The thought comforted him.

"The ball will be soon," he said, glancing around somewhat nonchalantly. In Amoren, everything had to be at least moderately nonchalant. "Do you intend to wear this to it? If so, it is a chance decision. Perhaps, if your manservant might be dismissed, I can help you to up your game."

Posted: **Sun May 17, 2020 4:34 pm**

Talon looked up to see a young man approaching. He carried himself differently than the other nobles meandering about the courtyard. There was a slight hunch to his shoulders though what for, Talon couldn’t guess at. Then again, was he not on edge himself with the depths of the Candor bearing down on him? Had he not come to that very courtyard to rehearse and practice all of the nuances that seemed to escape him? His grey eyes examined the young man carefully though not unfriendly. He was tall and broad of shoulder with a darker sun-bronzed skin tone that made him appear as though he’d come freshly from sunbathing. His dark hair was hiddenly mostly beneath a beret but there was an openness to his face that Talon found somewhat disarming. At least, as disarming as one could be in a land filled with strangers. Aoren moved to intercept the young man but Talon waved him down.

When the young man spoke, his accent was different from the rest of the Daravinic people that he’d met thus far. Talon was still very new to the language that they spoke most prevalently in Daravin and thus he almost missed it but it was in the way he pronounced certain words that drew his attention.

“Ah, yet another lesson that I must learn swiftly. Avoiding notice by being in the thick of things rather than outside of it.” Talon’s voice was smooth and cultured though it held the distinct lack of any hint of Lorien’s cadences. His “T’s” came out sharper and the “S’s” and similar sounds trailed slightly. Rising to his feet, Talon accepted the hand that was offered to him. He shook it firmly.

“Talon Alexios Novalys. You may call me Talon.” At that, Aoren cleared his throat softly. Talon gave a soft sigh and smiled. “Or if we are to stand on ceremony, Your Highness will suffice.”

Aoren looked like he was holding back the strong urge to roll his eyes. Instead he crossed his hands behind his back and offered a slight bow of the waist to Areas. Talon introduced his companion.

“This is Aoren. He is my bodyguard and friend.” With the introductions complete, Talon released Areas hand then nodded.

“I am the guest of Lady Ald, yes. She has been a very gracious hostess and an astute teacher. It is simply, Daravin is so different from my homeland it is taking some adjustment to understand the “Candor” as you call it.” On some level it was a little reassuring to know that even the most experienced players of the Candor dreaded coming to Amoren. That made him feel less like a simpleton and simply a man very much out of his element. He quirked a brow at Areas assessment of his wardrobe choice. It brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You are not the first to comment on my choice of attire, Areas. I imagine you will not be the last. Daravin’s fashions are…” He searched for the right words so as not to insult but to also express his reservations. “...interesting.”

“You would help? I would be very grateful for your insight.” He looked to Aoren. His friend gave a slight bow before stepping away, far enough to give the illusion of privacy but close enough to answer if called.

“I stand a student, Veir Courvagne. Share your lessons.”

Posted: **Sun May 17, 2020 5:49 pm**

Areas would not have noticed the difference between a Kathar and Synnekar tone; the Empire as large as it was, and as insular, it was difficult to grasp the cultures of the outside world. Particularly in Railon, which was so far away from any other nation, spared the travelers, traders and refugees of Ailizane or the north. From what he knew, however, Talon was not an enemy -- if he had been a winged man of the north, he would never have been allowed so far into the Empire's borders. Particularly not here. He was from... Kalzasi. Areas had scarcely ever heard of it before Talon's arrival had been announced, but it was included in his early education. He simply did not recall the specifics. Most of what the Entente learned of other nations was regarding their religion, or their military strength. They learned of them from the vantage point of conquerors, studying deeply on their weaknesses. If there was one thing he remembered, it was that Kalzasi was situated in a defensible position, and it held skilled warriors. And yes -- the wings.

"Alexios," he practically sighed the name. It was nice. He'd have to remember that one at least -- though the first name was a given. Talon. It sounded deadly, and considering the man bore the resemblance of a winged hunter, it suited him well. Novalys was a nice name, and it reminded him of one of the cities of the north, Novalise. With a moment's consumption, he'd felt that he had internalized the other man's visage and the names attached well. It was a talent one learned in the Candor, but also something that Areas liked to do; he enjoyed learning of others, grasping them fully. And Talon was already a man of interesting means.

"Your Highness?" he quickly replied. The man's brow quirked, and a smirk quickly grew upon the edge of his lips. He caught himself; it was an instinctual reaction. The Daravain were taught to disrespect other nations -- if a nation was not hated like Lorien or Dalquia, it was mocked for its insufficiency. In all of Karnor, there was not a single man Areas would consider calling a 'Highness'. They ruled cities. They were not unified. He felt ill-mannered for even thinking what he did of the words, but such was his upbringing. In some way he still viewed Talon as a Lord of a foreign nation, yet to be conquered. For a moment, he thought that perhaps he should play the Candor with him too -- because eventually, the things he could learn might be of benefit. But then Areas remembered that... he would never be involved in such affairs. He was a Veir, and not a particularly well-renowned one.

"I will settle for Alexios," he said, flashing the other man a charming glimmer of a smile. "I like it. And... Aoren, also a very nice name. Pleased to meet both of you; encantado de conocerte, as we would say in the irrelevant part of Couronne." He looked to both of them, quickly eyeing Aoren up and down. He seemed at least somewhat deadly, though Areas was not sure to what extent. Truthfully, he did not care. He had no ill intentions for Talon, and Aoren would perhaps discover that quickly. If anything, their meeting was one of boredom. While possibilities beyond personal entertainment existed -- such as mutual benefit -- he had nothing to gain from messing with Brilan's affairs. Areas would have preferred to remain unnoticed by her, as the moments where her grace ended and her wroth began were frequent. And some of those changes of demeanor in the past had been followed by dead Courvagne.

Regardless, Aoren was dismissed, and Areas got his wish. The two could discuss their politics in private; a standard in the Candor, though he would not point it out. Talon would quickly learn. There was, however, one thing that needed to be made clear.

"You should avoid introducing Aoren as your bodyguard, friend. It projects weakness. Even if that is a factual truth, the Entente demean one another for the perception of vulnerability. You will be undercut slightly less, but... still. Perceptions are key to this place. And, speaking of..." he paused. Areas narrowed his eyes, his arms - previously relaxed at his side - coming together before his chest. He then laid his elbow onto one of his palms, and softly exhaled. "Your outfit is not bad. It is sufficiently modest, I would say, but you can tell that it has been made by a foreign tailor. In Daravin... foreign cultures may be appreciated for a moment, but they can also be rather shocking, standing about so blatantly. Daravin must always be respected as the center of the world; to present Kalzasi is to disrespect the ambitions of the Empire. These Entente would all eventually see your city captured and converted, or razed. Remember that."

He sighed. The Veir was getting ahead of himself; it was a poor introduction. He was not a man who enjoyed excessive judgment, even if he was attempting to teach another the Candor. The two would be better served meeting over... a drink, or something. Perhaps with finer details on the other, where they were from. Talon did essentially say he was already overwhelmed, and so 'Veir Courvagne' was a poor mentor if he criticized the few elements Talon may have derived confidence from.

"Why don't we go inside the building before us? There is a dining area for Entente and their guests. Brilan's chefs manage the place; the quality is extravagant. But they also do casual food - a... bar of bread, a coffee to drink. Would you like to join me, Alexios? I can answer anything you might like to know; try to make you more comfortable. Perhaps I might even become more at ease in turn," he awkwardly, gently laughed.

Posted: **Sun May 17, 2020 6:32 pm**

There were not many who chose to address him by his second name. However, as Areas spoke it, Talon found that he did not mind it. He inclined his head then listened to what Areas had to say. It prompted a quirking of his brow.

“If I am weak for speaking the truth, I am hardly a man of strength at all.” Talon furrowed his brow. It baffled him to not speak truthfully the status of man’s position in life. In Kalzasi, all that a man was had to be measured by the worth they brought as a result of their own skills. Even as son of the Sovereign, Talon was expected to act with a significant amount of independence. He was compelled to honor his House by bringing in good fortune, fostering his own skills that allowed him to be a shrewd negotiator and to be able to sustain the affairs of their people. Those humble and mundane skills were prized and praised in his homeland. In Daravin it seemed that such simplicity was verboten. Everything had to be layered in meanings and then concealed with a veneer of polite etiquette. It was aggravating, to say the least. He suppressed a sigh and did not miss the near scoff at the mention of his honorific.

“I am not Imperial and I will not dishonor my people by pretending to be otherwise. I will adapt to learn of Daravin’s Candor but I will not debase my homeland.” Talon spoke firmly and with a slight stubborn toss of his head. He cast his gaze about to the women in puffy dresses and far too much perfume for his liking. Just looking at them made him feel uncomfortable. “I am the son of a foreign sovereign. Let them be reminded of that.”

Talon studied Areas casually. His grey eyes roamed the man’s form as one might observe something they wished to either learn more of or learn the weaknesses of. In truth, he had no ill intent toward the man but some of what he’d said had already rubbed Talon the wrong way. The Novalys heir reminded himself that Areas was simply trying to help. He was coming to understand that Daravin, for as much as it projected strength and opulence, was very vain and sensitive to the idea that it wasn’t the center of all existence. The very premise of their religion, Talon found appalling but he kept such misgivings to himself. The sheer amount of effort that the people of this nation went into trying to hide their true selves was exhausting. It already made him miss the black stone peaks of the Astralar Mountains. The comforting winds of the Udori Valley called to him but he set aside such thoughts in order to focus on the conversation at hand.

“I should think Daravin would hardly be threatened with my differences. Or do you imply that my foreign presence is so strong that the Entente could not weather it?” Talon knew little about the internal politics of the Empire. They were confusing enough on the surface but the idea that an entire class of Imperial nobles would be so offended and sensitive to the mere suggestion that he was different from them was, for lack of a better term, baffling to Talon. That in and of itself suggested a grave weakness to him but that was only because he didn’t know Daravin like one of its trueborn sons. Kalzasi was a place where one could be alive and well in one moment and then the next incursion from monsters crawling up from the Warrens would shred all one knew to pieces. People there lived far freer in their expressions than the oppressive game that the Entente seemed to turn life into.

Areas then invited him to a drink and to dine. It was later in the afternoon and Talon had yet to take any sort of meal. He’d been so consumed with trying to learn everything he could about how to navigate the Candor that it had slipped his notice.

“I would enjoy that, very much.” He stepped to the side so that he could walk with Areas at an even pace. His hands came to rest at the small of his back. When they were inside, Talon guided them to a place that was near sunlight. It took some modification to their seating but he made himself comfortable and returned his attention to Areas.

“Why do the Entente play this Candor? It seems so…” Talon caught himself. He withheld his initial thoughts and chose his words more carefully. “...complex.”

Posted: **Wed Jun 24, 2020 3:50 pm**

Mathis

Lores
If you would like some lores added let me know!

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Points 8

Comments: Wow this would have been an amazing thread if it had continued. I am looking forward to seeing what Mathis gets up to in Daravin moving forward ^.^. He is certainly an adapt player of the Condor!

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