A Song For The North

The Southern Aria 


 * Though identical in design to the Temple of the White Dragon, the monument building that houses the Aria Portal lacks the ambiance of divinity that its northern counterpart holds. It consists of an inner and an outer chamber, with two thirds of the overall dimensions of the monument uilding belonging to the interior area. It is directly connected to Dawnstar Keep at the northern end, with a projecting "H" of columns forming the entrance in the middle of the eastern side.


 * The inner chamber of the temple is thirty meters long by twenty meters wide, with internal marble colonnades in two tiers, structurally necessary to support the roof. On the exterior, the columns measure two meters in diameter and are ten meters high. The corner columns are slightly larger in diameter.


 * In total, the temple features forty-six outer pillars and nineteen inner pillars in total. The top step of the stepped platform upon which colonnades of the temple columns are placed has an upward curvature towards its center of three inches on the east and west ends, and of four inches on the sides. The roof is covered with large overlapping marble tiles.


 * Inside the temple, the arsenic-shade of stone is blanketed with white-bleached riveroak panels and beams, while the floor consists of black, reflective marble tiles. The contrast between the white timber and the black marble is nothing if not elegant, setting a somewhat welcoming tone for those who arrive here via the Aria.


 * It also seems fitting considering thenumber of officers from the Imperial Tribunal and the Imperial Watch that guard this area; the latter providing security, with the former working on behalf of the Imperial Office of Census and Excise, checking every returning person for valid citizenship and issuing permits of stay to those who are of a Wildlander description. Suffice to say that while the air tingles with the barely contained excitement of discovery and adventure, the mood remains somber and professional in most parts of the chamber.


 * The Aria itself stands in the middle of the inner chamber, facing north/south. It is an impressive artifact indeed, as large as it is ring-shaped into a near perfect "O". When in use, the swirling vortex that

links between here and Crown's Refuge seems to softly sing in the most harmonious of ways, giving rise to the name of the portal: The Aria.

Arriving into the inner chamber from the ingress that leads from Dawnstar Keep walk an unlikely pair of people indeed: Syton Temple and the Prince of the Blood, Serath Kahar. It is perhaps the Prince's eyes that give him away first, for in the subtle shadows of the Southern Aria at night, the depths of that ethereal blue gaze are backlit with a haunting shade of blue. Still, his steps are as silent as he is, and his outfit is the usual combination of leathers beneath that matte black leather surcoat he's become fond of in recent months, limiting his profile against the darkness of the shadows that creep within. No weapon adorns his hip, but Serath is a creature that doesn't really need one, after all, though one might suspect this absence is not quite by choice, but by circumstance.

"Some have lived there. Some haven't," Vhramis reminds with a half shrug at the bard. "And some would not...know how to defend themselves. Besides. I won't be stopped." A simple statement of fact, delivered with a small nod, before he straightens some where he stands. Turning about in the middle of the monument, Serath and Temple are fixed with a blank look.

"I would not presume to attempt to stop one of the blessed from doing anything he pleases," Taran shrugs. "It seems so counterproductive. Besides. Next week I might be evacuated to the sewers for my personal safety, and my tailor would never forgive me for that."

Syton appears rather mundane besides the Prince of the Blood--just a small, skinny Freelander in a suit of leather armor. If anything about him is at all remarkable, it is either the quarterstaff in his right hand or the gauntlet on his left. The latter seems to have more presence than the man wearing it, glimmering torchlight and moonlight back in its intaglio pattern. Syton and the Prince seem to be in the middle of a conversation as their walk. The Freelander's words become intelligible as he and Serath pass into the Aria. "So we've the lock and the key, but not the means to put one in the other. Zael spoke of a catalyst, but was not apt to explain what it was."

"I suspect Zael'tharalax was being purposefully vague, as the Black Dragonflight are wont to be on occasion," Serath replies towards Temple in a depthless voice not his own, "And yet I suspect that Ser-" "...and yet she suspects I have a knack for being able to sort the kittens from the cats, as it were," Serath then continues, that regal purr of his cutting in to the Dragoness's voice to retain control over the conversation once more as he walks by Temple's side, his hands held behind his back in an utterly casual posture of indefinable casual grace and reserved resignation. If anything, he sounds mostly amused. "What she isn't telling you is that she was part of that Dragonflight as well, as much as people think of her as being white, which is an *endless* source of amusement for me, for reasons I can't begin to explain. As for our key..." The Prince trails off, looking from Temple to Vhramis - to whom he offers a respectful nod of kinship - before gesturing to those arriving, and those beyond Vhramis who are already here. "I have a hunch."

Wolfsbane turns fully at that nod from Serath, pressing his fist to his chest in a greeting of his own, a return gesture of respect and salute mixed in one. "Evening," he calls, hand falling again at his side as he nods to Temple as well. Taran is looked to again, a small grimace directed at the bard, though the ranger's thoughts go unspoken for the moment.

Kael? Armor-clad and thoughtful, he's willingly led - and is no less startled at those already assembled. Squeezing Meian's hand, however, the young man stays conspicuously silent. And if anything... abruptly curious.

And the bard, who had been seated on the floor before the stone circle, gets to his feet with the aid of his staff. No nod, no bow...no wrath or anger either. Just a rather tired - and quiet - sigh, leaning on his staff.

"Black, white... They're both fine colors, your Majesty." Syton replies, smiling with a subtle amusement all his own. His quarterstaff taps along at his side, and he slows to walk a pace behind Serath. He turns his attention from the Prince to the assembled and the arriving, smiling and nodding to each. "Good evening, my friends."

"Fine colors indeed," Serath affirms with a final glance back to Temple, "But rarely applied..." With that said, with but a flash of a wicked smile, the Prince turns back around and walks at a more brisk pace towards Vhramis and the Aria behind him. "So: Vhramis Wolfsbane, Meian Skygleam, Taran Songbird, Kael Firelight. I'm glad you could all make it. Master Syton Temple here - whom I have developed an *exceptionally* bad habit of merely referring to as "Temple" these last few days - has apparently stumbled upon an old Draconic Artifact that he believes may be the key - or part of the key - to getting this ring of mystery open. He thinks he's going to need a catalyst, however." At that the Prince pauses, both in step and in elaboration. Patting Vhramis on the shoulder, he then turns to look at the other Freelanders in turn. "Call it divine inspiration, but I suspect one of you may be that catalyst. Well, perhaps even two." With a playful smile in tow, the Wildcat then asks: "Who's up for the attempt?"

Meian takes a deep, slow breath at that. For all that the worry, the tension doesn't go away, the girl seems less than entirely surprised. "W-who are we to q-question the d-divine, your Majesty," she remarks, with just a hint of humor to her tone despite respectfully lowered eyes. "And even if w-we were... I would t-try almost anything just to s-see what this place means. Whatever y-you would ask of me, I would t-try."

Vhramis does what he seems so good at. Stares. Serath's progress is tracked across the floor, the ranger blinking at the pat to his shoulder, before his eyes trace over the rest of those assembled. "Catalysts?" he thinks to ask with a swallow, Temple receiving a closer, more considering look. "Well, I'll do what I can, of course. I'm here after all, correct?" Meian recieves a faint nod, before Wolfsbane turns about to consider the large ring.

The greying young man at Meian's side grins, wryly - "I shoul' probably say no, but what woul' be th' fun?" A shrug, and he squeezes the lady-mage's hand - "Nae sure what y' woul' need me t' do, though - 'cept stand about lookin' right hansome, fer folk."

Taran just blinks, and waits, still leaning on his staff, unmoving and patient as the average rock.

Looking from one person to the next, Syton's amusement seems to slowly build. "So none of you have any experience with Draconian Song Portals? Never played with one as a kid?" He chuckles and approaches the portal rather directly, leaning his staff against it. "Personally," Syton says without turning back to the group, "My money is on Meian." He reaches out with his gauntlet to carefully run it over the curve of the portal.

"She seems a safe bet," the Prince offers by way of agreement, watching as Temple examines the portal as he stands by the eternally pragmatic ranger that is Vhramis. "However, that makes too much sense, which in my experience means it won't work quite so easily. Which, assuming our long-suffering Bard here doesn't still think I'm out to devour him, may require some improvisation." A smile, and Serath turns back to regard here. "Vhramis, I asked you here because you deserve to be here for this, if only as a way for me to make some things back up to you. That and, if this Song Portal doesn't go somewhere *nice*, I have faith that you'll be able to shoot people with sharp objects until they decide to go away. As for our friend Kael here..." Those blue eyes finally fall upon the Druid. "You're here for Meian. If this works as Temple thinks it will, then you'll understand."

The overall situation may not have left Meian flabbergasted, but Temple's comment and Serath's subsequent agreement certainly do. Jaw dropping, she glances between the two of them, unable to do more at first than utter a surprised, tiny laugh. "M-me? I'm sure that... t-that can't be at all. I've been here so m-many times, trying to play, and n-nothing happened. Even if there was a piece of the puzzle m-missing..." Her voice trails off, and the little mage simply shakes her head. A slow deep breath and she asks only, "What do you want me to do?"

Shifting his weight a bit in embarrassment, Vhramis clears his throat, though he gives a nod of his head to Serath. "Right," he agrees to the Prince, dropping a hand to his belt to uncap the quiver attached there, teasing his fingers along feather weights of the arrows. Meian is considered again, considering Serath's words, the ranger's eyes holding obvious curiosity and unspoken questions. Still, he knows when to be quiet.

"An aria is sung by a single singer," is Taran's simple reply. "By all means, Meian."

Questions? Oh, but at least Kael's been taking a /few/ cues from Vhamris, over the last several months. He doesn't ask, but he does nod - moving up next to the Ranger and simply watching his lady-bard and the portal, Temple and the Prince.

"I think we want you to open the portal, Meian," Syton says, helpful as ever. He laughs at himself and turns back around to face the others. Wraithguard waits patiently against the portal. "Master Taran may be right, or it may be that the Light didn't think out the name fully... In either case, we're not gaining much by speculation. Step up and give it a try."

On cue, Serath takes a few steps back to observe the group as a whole as they begin to cluster around the Song Portal. "Taran, am I correct in stating that an Aria is an elaborate melody sung solo, though often with accompaniment? If that's the case, then covering all the bases may be a better idea than covering only a few, as it were." At that, the Prince snickers to himself, looking to the ground as he shakes his head, arms now folded against his chest. "I also admit that this is not exactly Blades-grade tactical planning, but some things require simplicity as much as they require complication."

"Taran is b-better than I am," Meian states unsurely- but all the same, she's reaching back to unlimber her liltrum and take it into her hands, along with a deep breath. "And w-we don't know what to sing... but p-perhaps I'll just... I'll just try that f-first, to sing something without accompaniment." Squaring her shoulders she takes a decisive step forward... and ruminates silently for a moment, pale brow furrowing.

Perhaps as a subconscious gesture, Vhramis begins to mimic Serath's stance, crossing his arms at his chest, before he blinks and stops himself. Clearing his throat, he glances to both sides of him, before regarding Kael thoughtfully. "She's in good hands," he mutters to him, nudging the druid in the side with a meaningful nod, before turning back to the unfolding drama. "Mistress," he speaks up after a moment of deliberation. "Remember...anyone can make a difference," he encourages, repeating words once exchanged.

Taran takes a slow breath, blows it out gently. "Music, Meian," he says. "I expect no better of men who lack soul, but you are a bard. Let go the matter of puzzles and keys, let go the audience, and find the song. Do not worry about results. I will accompany once I find your melody."

"Donnae mean I donnae fret." Kael flashes Vhrais a quick grin... and subsides, just - watching.

"You can do it, Meian," is Syton's only encouragement. He glances to the Prince, to Wraithguard, to the portal, and finally back to Meian. Syton indicates his readiness with a nod and a rather carefree, "Here goes..." Wraithguard taps once against the portal, then falls silent, held at arm's length against the side of the portal's broad curve.

"Not to put a negative spin on things," Serath purrs as he watches from the sidelines, his expression now the epitome of reservation and regal intensity, "But Sara informs me that there are one of four local places she believes this Song Portal will connect to with in range of Fastheld: The first is Ebonhold, which would be interesting to say the least. The second is Crown's Refuge, which is what I am personally expecting, without assurance. The third is someone entirely uncharted, perhaps even underground, which would be an experience. The last is that it won't actually go anywhere." "Expect the worst," he offers, "Have faith for the best."

"I think it'll be Ebonhold," Syton chimes in, standing next to the portal with a preternatural, statue-like stillness. "That would be an interesting Balance, wouldn't it?"

Without another word - only the barest, grateful smile at all of the words of encouragement - Meian closes her eyes, and begins to sing. It starts off perhaps slightly tentative, a little quiver in her voice, the melody unsure... but before long, her voice strengthens and crystallizes. It's wordless, whatever she's singing, and merely a clear and rich thread of song carried on a pure 'ah'. The tune is unfamiliar, a fierce one that is at turns stirring, wild and even pensive... in true bardic style, being made up as the mage goes along.

Vhramis listens passively as Meian begins to sing, regarding the girl for several moments, before turning his eyes back onto the ring. He waits and watches expectantly, seeming to almost hold his breath in anticipation as he rolls his shoulder, causing Lady's Flight to slide down his arm and into his grip.

Taran listens to Meian for a while, getting the feel of her song's tone and direction, then picks up the seraphite-stringed Lute and begins to play. Where she is tentative, the lute is sure; where her voice is strong, its notes are delicate and ethereal. Ferocity paired with a steady repetition, wildness with gentleness, and pensively with reassurance. It takes rather a lot of work to follow it all, and the bard follows nothing else but the music.

Kael seems to catch some of that mood, the girl's song causing him to smile despite himself; the sound of the Lute just lending something more. In the end, however, perhaps it's Vhramis's motion that reminds him of risk - and a hand goes behind him, tangling in the odd hilt of one of those claw like blades sheathed at the small of his back. Rather than watching the portal, admittedly, it is both Meian and Taran that have most of his attention. Rapt.

Motionless would be a good way to describe Syton as he stands beside the portal. He listens to Meian and Taran without shifting his weight, coughing, blinking or really doing anything at all. He might as well be a small part of the large portal he stands beside.


 * Without warning, the Song Portal flares to life. Like a bubble forming within a child's blower, the space within the Portal's band shivers with a diaphanous ripple of ethereal liquid, apparently responding to the combination of artifact, aria, and accompaniment. Evidently, the music is awakening a sleeping power. Soundless and clear, the ripple continues to shimmer and flux, though doesn't seem to have fully revived quite yet.

"Vil'ath nau natha..." The depthless voice of Sara'tharalax sings out from Serath's location, the Prince evidently seeing things that are beyond mortal sight as the dragoness speaks. "Dil'au nath de'aire. I see the music. It is working. Continue! Continue as you are. The Portal awakens. It is heeding your call!"

A helpless shudder passes through Meian's slender body at that exhortation, and her song simply soars, high and clear. Her features are relaxed, bearing only a lingering slight smile to mar a look of complete distance- it might almost seem as if the girl currently exists as little more than a conduit for the music. And that music only strengthens, deepening in force, emotion and complexity, her voice executing trills as fluid as a bird's.

A soft exhaling of breath can possibly be heard from the ranger at Kael's and Serath's side, if they were able to make it out from the flowing music and calls of the dragoness. Wolfsbane stares in wonder as the artifact begins to show life, caught in a trance, though still reminding himself he has to breathe. He's always been prudent like that.

Taran's accompaniment falls back as Meian releases herself into her melody, becoming the steady background support that is all that is truly needed for a song purely sung. He seems to have no attention for anything else; there is only the music. And while he himself remains as calm and still as before, it is less the stillness of a mask and more the presence of a genuine radiating serenity; that of a man entirely within his element and at peace therein.

Kael simply watches, in awe - so still as to have perhaps forgotten what Vhamris has managed to remember, eyes wide and wondering.

Despite the fine musical performance, Syton flinches suddenly, a fault in his concentration openning up along with the portal. He closes his eyes and turns away from the ancient forces beind unleashed beside him. Wraithguard slides against the edge of the portal, but doesn't break contact with it. The young Freelander seems to be holding on, but for the moment, his composure seems questionable.


 * What has since been given is all it seems to take. With a flash of solidity, what was once a mere ripple strengthens and snaps into an iridescent vortex of ethereal light; one that serenely swirls in places, rotating in a clockwise direction, one turn per minutes, it seems, so casual is the rotation. What has been awoken seems unwilling to sleep again, instead content to sing a low and delicate aria of its own in but a faint whisper of sound.


 * The Song Portal dubbed the Southern Aria has been activated, offering promise of exploration beyond...

"Khaless dae nau! It is done! The Song Portal has awoken! Now take flight beyond the horizon! Discover what is there to be found!" The melodic voice of the spirit dragoness known as Sara'tharalax seems almost sad; but if those were unseen tears, they sound surely of joy.

Serath himself, however, remains the perfect image of reservation and calm, "As for the Regent's decree," he purrs, answering the unasked question, "The Fastheld Courier Service has a bad habit of getting lost, it seems, and I'm a busy Prince of the Blood, so I imagine I don't know anything about Shadow Districts or Marked Mages. Oh well." He smiles a mirthless smile, just nodding to those around him, and what they have accomplished. "Bring back gifts, but not Cultists."

Another helpless shudder, and Meian snaps back to herself. The girl ceases singing once the Aria takes over for her, opening decidedly bemused eyes that look around the room for a moment as if it's brand new to her- and then focus on that portal, single mindedly. Her smile broadens, a disbelieving thing, and she whispers, "We... we did it. We *did* it." Only then does she tear her gaze away, and predictably enough it goes to Kael. "We did it!" she informs him, excitement quickly replacing confusion. "Oh, let's go!"

Vhramis snaps back to the present at that announcement from Serath, the ranger fixing his attention on the Prince, to give him a brief nod. "I'll keep them safe, and find what I can. As well as try to get a bearing on exactly where it is." A dip of his head, and a look to the others, before the portal is considered intently. "A new foe? Friend? Just another adventure," he mutters, his eyes gleaming with a certain intensity as he strides forward, not hesitating to pass through.

At the final opening of the portal, the bard is startled out of the Zen-state of performance and his music stops. He stares at the portal with raw, unbearable longing for all of two seconds. "For the caged bird sings of freedom," he says. And then, without hesitation or so much as a backward glance... goes through.

Kael's right behind him - remembering to breathe at last, eyes alight... and, if he can get hold of her hand, he does - regardless, he barely pauses save to flash a grin at Serath, wild and warm. "Thankye." And he's onward, stepping through with no further hesitation.

Syton pulls Wraithguard free of the portal and shakes it rapidly, metal clicking. He snatches up his quarterstaff from the side of the portal and watches the others as they filter through the portal. He seems to be perfectly content to take a position at the back of the column. Before stepping through, he smiles to Meian and Serath. "Nicely done, Meian," he says brightly. Serath gets a sweeping bow. "Your Majesty, Mistress Drake. Light keep you both." With that, he turns and shoulders through the portal.

The scene that presents itself to those that travel through ancient Draconian artifacts is like this: One by one, the Imperials from Fastheld are greeted with a large and exceptionally deadly-looking greatsword made of Seraphite. Known as the Lady's Wing, it is a greatsword that is held by an equally deadly-looking combatant, one with a chiseled visage that compliments a build that is finely honed to the rigors of military life, featuring broad shoulders and a frame that strikes a keen balance between strength and agility. Hair of an unusual hue of dark silver cascades down the sides of his head to a level that reaches his neck, finely adjusted to grant him a dashing appearance befitting of a Wolf of House Zahir; cunning and all. Indeed, that steel-blue gaze and the perpetual emanation of this figure could be said to resemble something more akin to a wolf than an Imperial in nature. That machiavellian glance gives way to the character beneath; five foot eleven in height, his features speak of a man in his late thirties that has seen enough conflict to last a lifetime. Clad in the metallic scarlet half-plate of the Blood Guard of Crown's Reach, it can only be one man: The Archon Soravyn Zahir. In all, he doesn't look in the best of moods as the portal on HIS side of things activates itself. The lower level of Temple Spire is currently a hive of activity, with Wildlanders and Syladris alike all dashing around attempting to secure the area for combat. Tails and scales are a prime feature, as are the constant barks of the Archon himself, his gruff voice commanding enough to make even the most defiant of soldiers sit up and take heed. That those barks STOP when Vhramis steps through the Aria might not bode well unless words can be quicker than blades...

It probably doesn't make things seem much better for the ranger as he arrives on this side of the portal, his determined strides carrying him swiftly from it and onto the floor of the tower. So intent is he, that he takes several steps before grinding to a halt, his eyes widening as he stares upon the force forming to do he, and those following him, harm. "Blood Guard?" the ranger blurts out as he stares at Soravyn before him, his black clad form tensing as if ready to spring.

Taran steps through next - not unwarily, given he steps into the unknown, but without fear of any kind. Indeed, the bard's brief steps - just enough to get clear of the portal, in case someone might be tempted to land on him - seem light as feathers even in the old, worn boots. The presence of armed and aggravated soldiers doesn't seem to surprise him; he laughs in an 'of course' sort of way, raising the hand that *isn't* holding a staff. "No harm, no ill-will, good sirs," he says, and sets the staff down. "Strike if you wish, but know there is no need. Only ask for the cooperation you desire."

And behind Taran is yet another ripple in the portal, disgorging the greying-Freelander mage who is, laughingly, so intent on looking back at his hand (and the person attached to it, there) that, quite frankly, he's lucky the Portal isn't mounted on a dais with steps.

Instead, two steps in, with the cosmic certainty of the laws that govern such things, he runs smack into Vhramis's back, mid-stride, that handful of paces away from the portal where the Ranger's stopped and tense.

Syton shoulders his way through the portal a few seconds after Kael. He arrives on other side with a calm and curious expression, one that doesn't shift even as Syton takes note of the many weapons pointed--or about to be pointed--at him and his companions. His blue-gray eyes scan the room quickly before settling on the Archon. "Soravyn," he says in greeting.

Meian is the last through, her hand captured in Kael's, arm outstretched- she's bright and smiling, although that ebullient expression rather quickly cools upon noticing just what they've walked into. Thankfully she manages not to run into the pile of Vhramis-Kael, though neither does she let go of the greying mage's hand- just halts, and tugs him backward again, looking around with wide eyes and silent worry.

To the question, the Wolf offers a question of his own: "Wolfsbane?!"

The subsequent arrival of Taran draws his attention for a moment, as do the other arrivals of Meian, Temple, and Kael. That the latter runs smack into the back of Vhramis provokes Soravyn Zahir into lowering the dusty-blue greatsword just enough so that the two don't impale themselves on it; lowering it and moving it to the side just to be safe, with a sigh and an expression of a long suffering Captain upon his visage. "Yes. That's Wolfsbane. I should have known." ''"Wolfsssbane!" one Syladris hisses with glee as another, a female, repeats it with the same whispered and sibilant tone of excitement. "Wolfsssbane isss back!"'' It begins. "Syton Temple as well? Ah, and Kael Firelight. Well, this is far better than Cultists, at least. Less disaster, more calamity. Oh, the Syladris around going to have a field day." He pauses at that, lifting the Lady's Wing just enough to tilt it back over his shoulder and set it to sleep within the baldric upon his back. "You two I don't know," he rumbles towards Taran and Meian, "However, if you're in the company of these three, you're either very loyal or very lucky. Perhaps both." He seems to be taking a quiet interest in the tattoos.

"Sora-VYN!" The surprised ranger both begins and ends that exclamation in a tone of surprise, though the beginning is pleased, and the second less so. Plowed into from behind, the long departed son of Crown's Refuge returns in a less than glamorous way to his adoring public. By sprawling out onto the floor. "Oof," he grunts heavily as he thuds onto the stone, pinned down by Kael, though that doesn't stop him from struggling mightily. "Get off me!"

Taran looks amused. "We are bards, good sir," he says, and leaves it to Soravyn to work out the question of loyalty or luck. For his own part he seems to be drinking in the whole world. Looking at the armor, and the Syladris, and the weapons, the tangle of Kael and Vhramis barely seems to register. But he does pick up his staff and wave a vague hand in Meian's direction. "She is Meian Skygleam, and will be wedded to Kael in... oh, a week or so, I think, was it?"

And in the midst of that two-person mess of armor and bow and flailing bits, Kael manages, after a moment to sort where he's ended up, to roll away from Vhramis and flash a grin up to Soravyn - still sitting in the floor, now, a bit more comfortably. Conversation? He was busy - he's not /quite/ caught up yet, except to ask, abruptly - "Y' e'er find that knife?"

Syton takes a few steps away from the group, regaining his personal space while he laughs at Kael and Vhramis. He leans against his quarterstaff comfortably and looks among the Blood Guard arrayed against them. His laugh fades slowly and he motions to Taran with his armored hand. "Archon Soravyn Zahir, this is Master Taran Songbird," Syton introduces. "Meian and Master Taran here just opened the Song Portal."

"V-very lucky I think, my lord," Meian murmurs rather shyly, lowering her gaze down to the sitting Kael. She seems unsure about whether to join him or not, kneels lowering her a couple inches before she finally just... steps up behind him, placing both hands on his head in a thoughtlessly possessive gesture. Conundrum thus settled, she looks all around with very curious eyes, through half-lowered lashes.

"You don't say," Soravyn offers in reply to Temple's half-obvious statement. His tone is as mirthless as it is dry, but his expression is anything but. "From the Empire, I assume?" The Archon looks up towards Taran, and then between the tangled Kael and the still standing Meian. "Congratulations are in order, then. Although, unless you're planning on a change of venue, "in a week" may be somewhat generous. And Tabaxi managed to "find" it, Kael, which I came as little surprise.”

The crisis mostly over, the Blood Guard who managed to scramble have all stood down now, and an exceptionally "unmilitary" air of amusement and casual interest seems to have replaced the steadfast and grim atmosphere from before. The Syladris, in particular, seem VERY interest in Vhramis, sprawled or not. The Wildlanders are, like Soravyn, apparently more curious about the marks upon three of the Imperials.

"Very well," Soravyn sighs, looking towards his Blood Guard, "You can all run off and play. We'll need to figure out *something* to prevent every half-baked Noble in Fastheld coming through, but we'll deal with that when we have to. "I think that "lucky" is an understatement," he mutters to Meian, stepping over and around the Vhramkael pile.

Wolfsbane quickly pushes himself back to his feet, retrieving his dropped bow and brushing at it, even as he looks about the now relaxing Blood Guard. A bit of an embarrassed flush reaches his cheeks as he catches his name repeated here and there, and after a moment, he lifts his hand in a bit of a wave to those assembled. "It's good to see Crown's Refuge again," he states, to Soravyn or anyone who may care to listen.

Taran takes advantage of the relative calm to step away from the portal a bit more, and possibly at a safe distance from anyone that might have a sudden urge to attempt acrobatics. "Oh, we just performed," he says lightly. "Master Temple's handwear seems to have been the missing element." He tilts his head. "Ah - one way? Far better than the Shadow District, in any event."

Kael blinks. "Huh. no kiddin'." He scrambles up to his feet (thieving a bit of help from Meian, if he gets away with it) - "... an'.. thankye? Fer th' congratulatin', I mean."

Syton offers Taran a dismissive little shrug and says, "Just a little trick it does." Wraithguard hangs quietly at Syton's side, trying to draw as little attention as possible. Turning back to Soravyn, the young Master Temple forces a casual tone, "I hope this visit finds you better than our last, Soravyn."

Meian is all too happy to lend Kael a little help in hauling himself to his feet, though she begins to look decidedly confused once more as the conversation swirls about her. "We're... w-we're in Crown's Refuge?" she whispers to the greying mage. "And the p-portal's here, so... why wouldn't we be b-back in a week..." She does her best to keep hold of a hand once he's standing, and cling to it with perhaps just a hint of worry in the tight grasp.

"As do I," Soravyn returns in a distracted kind of tone, his attention fully on the shimmering vortex within the Aria's portal. "From the Empire, you say. And that depends on how if you plan on returning, Taran. People don't often leave Fastheld without a good reason." He sighs deeply, "Something I can attest to. For now, feel free to explore. You'll have to take up lodging in the Southern Cross, as the Golden Dragon had a slight mishap involving fire and wood. Oh, and if you see Wolves the size of horses wandering around, pay them no heed. They're quite tame, and equally intelligent." The Archon eyes the Aria once more, and then smiles a conniving little smile. "As for this Wolf, I have some security to ensure for my little corner of the Wildlands. Time to see if it works both ways..." And with that, and quite without warning, Soravyn moves towards the Aria, picks up speed, and-

''Return to Season 6 (2007)