The Legends of Altera Vita

Traveling through Arendale was surprisingly pleasant, at least on the surface. The city's charm, however, was marred by an undercurrent of fear and tension. Everywhere Belisarius looked, citizens moved with a nervous energy that spoke of deeper troubles. Their eyes—perpetually darting, searching—betrayed a collective apprehension that no amount of civility could mask.

The military presence was far from subtle. Soldiers patrolled the streets with an intensity that suggested more than routine security. Their formations were too deliberate, their vigilance too keen. Something was brewing—Aegisgrad, the seat of power in the northern Human territories, was clearly preparing for something momentous.

For what? Belisarius had no answers.

But before anything else, Belisarius needed to gather information. In a city as sprawling and densely populated as Arendale, finding an inn was no small feat. The city was a deliberate labyrinth, designed with defense in mind. Winding streets twisted like serpents, buildings clustered in irregular formations, and hidden portholes for defenders. Navigating the city seemed like a challenge even on a good day.

"Targeld," Belisarius asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and mild frustration, "how close are we to this inn?"

Targeld's broad shoulders shifted in a dismissive shrug. "Not too far now. Bet the gang's already there, anyway."

A flicker of curiosity crossed Belisarius's face. "The gang? You've mentioned them before. Who exactly are we talking about?"

"Well, you've got me," Targeld began, counting off on his massive fingers, "the rat-bastard Ikit and—"

Before he could finish, a familiar interruption materialized.

"Boss-boss, pointy ear and lizard thing inside, there-there!"

Ikit appeared as suddenly as he vanished, his beady eyes—the only visible feature behind his shadowy cowl—gleaming with an almost manic excitement. His skinny fingers pointing towards a nearby tavern, then disappearing with the same supernatural quickness that defined his existence.

The sign hanging above its door was peculiar—a figure that seemed to blur the lines between masculine and feminine, an artistic representation that felt perfectly at home in a city as wonderfully strange as Arendale. Belisarius barely glanced at the sign before pushing open the heavy wooden doors.

Inside, the tavern was alive with noise, far more bustling than he would have expected at this hour. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and ale, and the sound of clinking mugs and laughter filled the room. His eyes scanned the crowd quickly, searching for familiar faces among the throng. It didn't take long for him to spot them—a Dragonkin and a Diu Elf, locked in what seemed to be a heated argument.

"Kael, do you even realize where we are?" Daeva, the Dragonkin, asked, exasperation threading through every syllable. His golden eyes—like molten sunlight captured within obsidian-slit pupils—betrayed a mix of concern and barely contained frustration.

"Jealousy doesn't suit you Daeva", Kael, the Diu elf, shot back with a smirk. "Just because the girls are flocking to me doesn't mean you should be upset. Maybe you'd have better luck with the men."

Belisarius walked toward them, his eyes lingering on the two—'Daeva' and 'Kael', feeling a vague sense of camaraderie from the two while he examined them.

Daeva stood at an imposing 7 feet tall, only slightly smaller than Targeld, his presence a blend of both human and dragon characteristics. His eyes were particularly striking, shining like golden rays of sunlight with narrow black slits at their center, a constant reminder of the draconic heritage that coursed through his veins.

Dark red scales, polished and regal, covered his arms and legs, providing both protection and a sense of majesty. These scales gradually transitioned to dark tanned human skin as they approached his neck and groin, creating a stark but seamless blend of dragon and man. His hands and feet ended in sharp, obsidian claws, capable of tearing through both flesh and armor. Behind him, two folded wings rested against his back, their potential power hinted at in their subtle movements.

On his side, Daeva carried what appeared to be a simple dagger sheath, but Belisarius couldn't shake the feeling that it held something far more powerful and dangerous than an ordinary blade. Daeva's every movement was filled with a controlled strength, a quiet intensity that spoke of the dormant draconic power waiting to be unleashed.

Kael, the Diu Elf, was the undeniable focal point of the room, surrounded by five figures who were practically tripping over each other to gain his attention. Their laughter and flirtatious gestures filled the air, but it was Kael who truly captivated the scene. Belisarius couldn't deny the mesmerizing beauty of the elves—an inherent trait of their kind, who were said to be the most elegant descendants of ancient humans.

Kael's skin was a flawless shade of porcelain, his sharp jawline sculpted to perfection, and his full lips added an irresistible charm. His long, golden hair framed his face like a halo, and his deep azure eyes held a magnetic pull that seemed to draw the women closer, almost as if by enchantment. Even though he stood at a relatively smaller stature around 5'8, his ethereal beauty more than made up. It was no wonder they were nearly frantic in their desire for his attention, their infatuation bordering on obsession.

"Kael, those aren't girls," Daeva explained, his voice laced with urgency as he tried to get through to the oblivious elf, who seemed entirely too comfortable in the unfamiliar tavern.

Kael's playful smile froze mid-expression as one of the so-called "girls" leaned over to pour him a drink. His eyes trailed from her face to her jawline, noticing the sharpness there, and then to the toned muscles rippling beneath her skin. Realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, his face dropping in dismay.

Without a word, Kael stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he made a hasty retreat from the table. He marched straight towards the entrance, his once confident stride now replaced with a stiff, almost mechanical walk. As he neared the door, his eyes locked onto Belisarius.

"Oh, boss, you're back," Kael greeted, his voice deadpan and his expression utterly deflated, as if all the life had been drained out of him in an instant.

"Kael, if you're into men, we won't judge." Targeld said, part genuine support, part merciless teasing.

Kael's expression darkened further, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson as he heard the remark. Daeva, unable to contain his amusement, snickered quietly from behind. "I guess you have better luck with the men than I do."

With a downcast look, Kael shuffled out of the tavern and took a seat outside on a bench beside the door, his demeanor a stark contrast to his usual flamboyant self.

Daeva walked over to Belisarius, still chuckling from the encounter with Kael. "Moving out, boss? Can't imagine you'd track us down for any other reason."

Belisarius shook his head. "Actually, I was hoping to gather some information about our location."

A strange look crossed Daeva's face. "Why didn't you just ask Ikit?"

"Why would Ikit know?" Belisarius countered.

Daeva's expression mirrored the looks Targeld had given earlier—a mixture of concern and something deeper. "That's his job. You tell him to find something, and he does it."

Belisarius offered a noncommittal "Oh" in response, not entirely sure what that vague answer meant.

"I'm not sure where Ikit is anyways so I dont think it would have helped much."

"Don't worry about the ratling, boss," Daeva said with a reassuring smile. "He's always watching."

-----

The quartet left the tavern and made their way through the winding streets toward the Southern tower, which supported part of the city's protective magic barrier. Massive and imposing, the structure stood as a testament to architectural might, its fortifications designed to prevent even the slightest possibility of sabotage that might expose Arendale to the merciless cold beyond its walls. 

Belisarius had learned quickly to adopt an air of knowing confidence, regardless of how little information he actually possessed. When Daeva mentioned they were meeting another companion, he simply nodded, maintaining the façade of familiarity.

As they approached, a figure walked outside the tower—a being of metallic glass that defied conventional description. Its form was both child-like and foreign, a gentle smile playing across features that were more suggestion than substance. The smile itself seemed wrong, too perfect, too serene to be entirely natural.

"I hate it. I hate it. I hate it." Daeva muttered, a low snarl building in his throat. "Its like he knows."

The mysterious figure's voice rang out, warm and melodious. "Friends, I am glad to see you in good health once more."

Daeva's response was immediate and venomous. "Zazz, shut up and get over here. And don't start with your preaching's... or whatever it is you do."

Zazz's radiant smile only intensified, a gesture that seemed to infuriate Daeva further. "Friend, you are troubled. Allow me to offer words that might heal your soul," he responded, his tone a perfect blend of soothing comfort and unwavering conviction.

"I'm warning you," Daeva growled, "I will kick you right in the nuts... or whatever anatomical equivalent you possess." His threat rang hollow, more frustration than genuine menace.

Belisarius studied the being—a Novaki, if his observations were correct. Novaki were beings of matter, not constricted to a physical form. Zazz existed in a state of perpetual metamorphosis, a glassy metallic shell housing the shimmering mist he was comprised of, obscuring any definitive characteristics. Gender, form, identity—all were fluid concepts for this race of extraordinary beings.

Zazz had the shell appearance of a small child, though their true nature was far more elusive. Their gender was ambiguous, a mystery hidden behind their opaque metallic form, yet it preferred to be addressed as "he." 

Despite this, Belisarius didn't waste time scrutinizing Zazz's details, knowing that the Novaki's form was as fluid as he liked. By tomorrow, Zazz might be inhabiting a different shell, choosing to look entirely different, his appearance changing with the whims of his mysterious nature. It was this unpredictability that made Zazz both intriguing and unsettling, a constant reminder that the Novaki were beings not entirely bound by the same rules as others, and probably part of the reason why Daeva had shown an extreme distrust and disgust towards him.

"Zazz," Belisarius interjected, "would you care to join us? And perhaps explain your activities in the tower?"

"Why, of course, boss," Zazz replied, his voice maintaining that unsettling blend of childlike innocence and ancient wisdom. "I was feeling the Central Observatory. It is most challenging when one is not atop a mountain."

The statement hung in the air, its meaning deliberately obscure. Daeva glanced at Kael, Kael looked to Belisarius, and a silent agreement passed between them—some mysteries were best left unexplored.

Targeld, meanwhile, remained blissfully detached, utterly captivated by a butterfly dancing just beyond his massive fingers.

With a subtle gesture, Belisarius motioned for Zazz to follow. The group—now a quintet of extraordinary beings—began their journey back to the estate where Belisarius's strange day had begun.

The streets of Arendale seemed to shift and whisper around them, holding secrets as complex and mysterious as the beings who walked them.