9340/The Stage of History

The Stage of History
Date of Scene:	29 December 2021
Location:	Atlantean Embassy
Synopsis:	No description
Cast of Characters:	Atrun Rai, Namor

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Atrun Rai has posed:
    Once conducted behind the curtain, the tall man in the Assyrian beard stands quietly in wait for his audience. He goes where directed, of course, though water will not stop him - should he be directed where water must be navigated, a simple word or two uttered quietly to himself and he will be able to thrive. Magic has its privileges, and all. He's also quite able to swim. But if not, away to the waiting rooms he'll go, and sit there, quietly, that same beatific expression upon his face. As if thrilled just to be there. Which, in many ways, one imagines that he is.

Namor has posed:
"His Majesty will see you now," an attendant informs Atrun-Rai, ushering him into the royal chambers before quickly departing. Namor sits upon what can only be described as a throne that seems grown from living rock and sea shells - somehow transplanted into this room. He leans one lazy elbow on the arm of the chair, watching the man with the gift of history arrive.

"I'm afraid I have to make it rather brief, but I'm sure you understand."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Does he, now? The sorceror's smile becomes less beatific, though still pleasant - amused, somewhat, as he takes in the man and his sprawling aquatic throne. "I thank you for your hospitality." Another hand-sign, which is, to be frank, a gesture that is old beyond measure, even among Atlantean's trackless ages. Would he even be aware of it?

    "I introduce myself, O Prince," says he, bowing his head to the man. "I am Atrun-Rai of Lantalla, student of the Red Palace, scion of the Amatakoi and Mestales, and court magician to His Towering Highness, Estuan of Lantalla, Fourth of His Name." Another bow, his palm held out, then upon his breast. It is as though a figure from the Western canon's Age of Heroes had suddenly appeared, albeit an incredibly obscure one - for all his learning, of course, the wizard would still be but a footnote for any who did not know the secret history of the age.

    But the gift of history? Possibly him.

Namor has posed:
"Those are ancient names," Namor answers, brow furrowing slightly, "Barely known to even scholars now. I would not know them myself, were it not for many years spent at the right hand of Queen Atlanna."

He pauses, lowering his head slightly to case his gaze upward at the man.

"You are a long way from home, I believe. How did this come about?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    The sorceror pauses, and then takes a seat - electing to brave the lack of permission before the suddenness of revelation. "O Prince," he says in response, "The same as so many who find themselves returned: I died, yet was needed once more. So am I here, and here to pledge my assistance, should you require it. I am, of course, a primitive before the glories of the day, but I come from a far more potent age where the arts of magic are concerned, and may be of use to you." A pause. "To say nothing of a return of lost history. When I lived before, it was in days when Atlantis was a city, and the Seven Kingdoms still existed as a league. When we still lived upon the surface."

Namor has posed:
"It's true that sorcery has fallen by the wayside in the Empire of the Deep," Namor admits, "It is practiced, but not with great potency and too often with selfish intent. If you can offer your services, they will be gladly received."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "The Old Blood runs in the veins of some, O Prince," the sorceror affirms. "It is not lost to all - but, in the meantime, I offer you my knowledge, as a citizen of the day and as a sorceror of our shared homeland." A pause. "And it is because of this that I, who once advised kings, advise you now: a thing is happening. A terrible thing. The Creator, that spirit which we knew in ancient days as the Presence, afflicts us on this earth with a trial, a trial where all Creation hangs in the balance. If you would allow it, I would ask that you hear out a young man of my acquaintance, who I count as an ally in this battle to preserve our realty. If we do not win, there will be no Atlantis. No history. A new shell of creation without free will among that which peoples it."