Legends of an Old World // [Larsa]

[The Remnant]

The throne room in Archades wasn't the kind of place most people were privy to see. If their lord summoned them, they would go; otherwise, such palaces were more apt to stay shut. Or at least, such places were usually like that. As to what had been going on here recently, the old world's remnant hadn't held quite so much interest. End of the war, however... that caught his attention. Usually the groups of a world would have quickly scrounged the site of Esthar's wreckage for supplies and fortify positions to turn it in to a fortress with which to wage war. So there he stood, old world flag on his back, staff in hand, a bandaged hand holding his wide-brimmed cap down in a decent breeze flowing through the city today, stirring the fringes of his duster as he looked on. Two knights stood guarding the entrance to the palace of Archades, and they both had their eyes on him. He had expected as much, how long he had been standing here.

He had a message for the lord of this castle. He would transfer its burden as it should be. Those worn old boots took yet more steps again, walking straight past the two guards a tad faster than they had been expecting. Stopped their spears coming down to bar his way with the symbol on his staff, walking right through despite their protests. "Got a message for your emperor," He said plainly, continuing in the direction he was certain the throne room was. Castles usually had similar setups, as he had found. The next motion of the knights was so predictable that he didn't even have to look behind him; two swift thrusts of his staff to the rear, and the sound of coughing erupted from both knights despite their armor. Enough to get him through. They'd be fine in about an hour; what he had given them was a tap compared to his actual strength. He strode in to the throne room with that same pace, not stopping until he stood before the throne and the young ruler in the much too large seat.

"My name is not important. Heard about you, Solidor. Had to talk to you. Bear a message and a purpose. Seen empires rise and fall. Seen worlds destroyed by their own effort. Here... different. Your flag reminds me of my own. Look doesn't matter. Had questions to ask you first. Want to know about your journey. Hear your motives. My message is an important one. The why of things... more important right now. Need to know what lies at the center of the judge first. The story of your travels will do," the old world's warden said calmly, his deep voice booming with surprising volume considering his rather thin shape. He didn't speak with arrogance, however; he spoke with curiosity and... a hint of conviction. He did not see fit to explain his presence more than what he had. Telling the boy he was with the destroyer so soon would more likely than not make his message not carry as it should. Now was the time for the old world to start waking up, and the one to do it would be its sole survivor...

[Larsa Ferrinas Solidor]

It wasn't often that he sought Vayne's company.

Of course, the man had long since left this world, and with time that knowledge had ceased to wound the younger as acutely as it once would have. Now it only filled him with a profound sense of sadness, and when the hollowness grew all-consuming, he retreated to the room of ceremony - the throne room, where he was sure he felt his brother's presence.

Not the power-maddened specter that he had grown to be near the end of his life, but the compassionate and wise Crown Prince he had been in Larsa's youth. A man whose comfort he sought, both then and now.

I pray that you are at peace, brother.

The sudden and unceremonious, low and vibrating bang of the towering doors being opened (slowly, but with great percussive force) caught the raven unawares, having been well and truly alone, and he jumped just slightly - shifted where he sat, at the very edge of the grand throne, feeling (perhaps somewhat childishly) as if - were he to relax - the sheer weight of it would swallow him whole. But someone strode forward, a cloaked figure with a staff in hand, and at this Larsa stood, making as if to lay one hand on the hilt of his sword -

but of course he wasn't armed: one didn't expect to be struck in peacetime at the heart of the palace.

At about the time he deduced he would have to defend himself with magic, the figure ceased its forward approach, at the foot of the dais. Larsa braced himself...

and the figure spoke.

Both caught magnificently off-guard by and at a loss as to the reason for his appearance, the raven attempted to decipher his many fragmented statements, remaining quiet until long after the last ring of his words faded from the stone walls and high-vaulted ceiling.

"I am afraid I do not follow," he said very, very carefully after a few long moments, not taking the related assumption of the man's power lightly at all. That he hadn't been alerted... would he find the bodies of soldiers littering the hallways when he left?

If he left - and if that wasn't a gruesome thought.

"What is it you would have me do?" Larsa asked quietly, at almost a murmur. Who was this man?

[The Remnant]

The old world's warden waited patiently and calmly for the emperor's response. He noted the pained look that crept behind the young man's eyes, that look one gets when their assistants are killed, the fear, the uncertainty. This he remedied. "Didn't kill them. Strike to the stomach, below the ribs. Puts them in a coughing fit. They'll recover by the time I leave," He said, waiting once more. Finally, the young emperor decided his message and spoke it. He couldn't claim surprise. His manner of speaking was difficult to follow at times, as he knew. And of course his very presence would have put the man on his guard as well... or caught him off of it. The young man was unarmed. The old one always had weapons.

"Came to hear your story. Your mentor's death, your brother's rule, your claim to power. Want to hear your motives, learn what drives your flag. I've lived for longer than I should have. Seen flags born and seen them burn. The lives of kingdoms and empires, their leaders, their destroyers. Can be made and broken by individuals. I want to hear your story. Want to know if the message I bear will be any good in your hands. Seen the Destroyer before here. World was ravaged by war. Destroyed itself in chaos before her hand was on it. Your world, not like that. Saw your war with the cloud. Thought it was the same story. The message you bore spoke of something greater. Want to see if I'm right. Hearing your story will be enough. Have questions, ask them later. If I bear the answer it will be yours. Have all the time in the world," With that, the remnant fell silent, waiting to hear the story of the young emperor of Archades.