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mizton

๐˜ฏ๐˜ฆ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ด๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ง๐˜ช๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ





















  • intro






























    liszt



    Consolations


























    opening.



    T
    he scene beyond jolting windows was this: a recurrent sight of lush hills, pricked by thorny, vivid wildflowers that came in twos & threesโ€”though hardly bushesโ€”with the occasional man-tilled fields of gray staining an otherwise picturesque landscape. Tall trees dotted the hillsides, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Fields of wildings stretched out as far as the eye could see, their vibrant colors a stark contrast against an emerald grass. A lush, green & untouched countryside of Maritria rolled into minor manors, country houses, outskirting cities, & other otherwise details of civilization as the delegates from Rhonne made their way to the royal palace.

    The delegates rode in carriages, wheels of which bounding along the rocky terrain. The carriages ornate, wood once-polished now-roughed from a long journey, adorned with silver accents which gleamed a white in cool sunlight. The horses pulling them were sleek and well-groomed, their manes and tails braided with colorful ribbons. Flags with fleurs-de-lis fluttered from the top of the first few carriages of the procession, signaling their status as representatives of a foreign nation. There'd been a date by which the Empress had instructed the party to arrive by, but that didn't mean some hadn't arrived early. The last of the carriages rode in about an hour before noon today.

    As they drew closer to the mountains, a chill & tightness of breath were the first sensations of note, beside a now colder scenery. Towering peaks rose up on either side of the road, their snow-capped summits disappearing into the clouds above. Dense forests of pine and fir blanketed the mountainsides, the trees swaying gently in the breeze, though the familiar greenery towards mountain roots grounded the vision, a reminder of earlier plains . Waterfalls cascaded down the rocky cliffs, their spray creating tiny rainbows in the mist toward the foam if one kept a keen eye downwards.

    As the carriages rounded a bend in the road, the countryโ€™s capital came into view with a palace that sat on a hill above. A majestic structure it was, walled high & with turrets tall enough to scrape heaven. The red flag with only one white corner fluttered from the top of the palace, a symbol of power & sovereignty. Of new sights alone, servants of the delegation mightโ€™ve felt a sense of awe upon the mountainous palace. Compared to their own, though, it may as well have been a grange.

    Guards stood at attention with armor that glinted under noon sky. Rows of a few of the palaceโ€™s maids lined the first couple of steps, each little ribboned head with bent neck towards the guests. By all means, the least that couldโ€™ve been done in receiving another nationโ€™s ambassadors while still maintaining cordiality was executed that day.

    As the carriages came to a stop, its occupants stepped out, their eyes taking in the sight of the royal palace. Despite the beauty of their surroundings, however, the delegates could not shake the sense of foreboding that hung over them. They knew that their mission was a delicate one, and that the Maritrian nobles would not take kindly to their proposal. They braced themselves for what lay ahead, knowing that the negotiations would not be easy. It was clear that their visit to Maritria was going to be an experience unlike any other.

    While they did, delegate and attendant mightโ€™ve conversed amongst themselves before heading in to be received, conversation more or less masked by the shuffling of footmen unloading their trunks. When all was said & done, though, it went unsaid that the party ought to head in as a unit.



    Thereโ€™d been no call for the entirety of the palaceโ€™s occupants to greet them, save for the royal family which had recently dwindled to a crown princess & her siblings; the sudden death of the countryโ€™s queen had left the widower king a recluse. All the same, the early birds among Maritrian nobles & other courtiers accompanied the family, preparing to receive the delegates of Rhonne and their attendants. The air was thick with tension, as rumors had been circulating that the foreign nation had come to propose unification that was effectively an absorption.

    The grand hall had been prepared for the occasion, though minimally so, with national banners and flags hanging from the rafters. The Maritrian courtiers lined up in a row, some faces set in a stoic expression. A meeting later that week would instruct them to remain neutral during negotiations, but their hearts for today were heavy with the knowledge that the future of their kingdom was at stake.

    Thereโ€™d be no grand occasions today or for the next couple of days, but rather a grace period to allow for their guests to recover from the long journey. No, for today & the week ahead, all there was to do was wait & humor these delegates the best one could. Until the delegates stepped into the palaceโ€™s grand hall, light chatter among hosts filled the air, with hushed whisper-gossip of maids doing well to dampen the silence.































intro



cast








crown & casualties



palace
portraits








time



1100h, noon | Spring







weather



chill in the air







location



maritrian royal palace







status



open





















โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก




The scene beyond jolting windows was this: a recurrent sight of lush hills, pricked by thorny, vivid wildflowers that came in twos & threesโ€”though hardly bushesโ€”with the occasional man-tilled fields of gray staining an otherwise picturesque landscape. Tall trees dotted the hillsides, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. Fields of wildings stretched out as far as the eye could see, their vibrant colors a stark contrast against an emerald grass. A lush, green & untouched countryside of Maritria rolled into minor manors, country houses, outskirting cities, & other otherwise details of civilization as the delegates from Rhonne made their way to the royal palace.

The delegates rode in carriages, wheels of which bounding along the rocky terrain. The carriages ornate, wood once-polished now-roughed from a long journey, adorned with silver accents which gleamed a white in cool sunlight. The horses pulling them were sleek and well-groomed, their manes and tails braided with colorful ribbons. Flags with fleurs-de-lis fluttered from the top of the first few carriages of the procession, signaling their status as representatives of a foreign nation. There'd been a date by which the Empress had instructed the party to arrive by, but that didn't mean some hadn't arrived early. The last of the carriages rode in about an hour before noon today.

As they drew closer to the mountains, a chill & tightness of breath were the first sensations of note, beside a now colder scenery. Towering peaks rose up on either side of the road, their snow-capped summits disappearing into the clouds above. Dense forests of pine and fir blanketed the mountainsides, the trees swaying gently in the breeze, though the familiar greenery towards mountain roots grounded the vision, a reminder of earlier plains . Waterfalls cascaded down the rocky cliffs, their spray creating tiny rainbows in the mist toward the foam if one kept a keen eye downwards.

As the carriages rounded a bend in the road, the countryโ€™s capital came into view with a palace that sat on a hill above. A majestic structure it was, walled high & with turrets tall enough to scrape heaven. The red flag with only one white corner fluttered from the top of the palace, a symbol of power & sovereignty. Of new sights alone, servants of the delegation mightโ€™ve felt a sense of awe upon the mountainous palace. Compared to their own, though, it may as well have been a grange.

Guards stood at attention with armor that glinted under noon sky. Rows of a few of the palaceโ€™s maids lined the first couple of steps, each little ribboned head with bent neck towards the guests. By all means, the least that couldโ€™ve been done in receiving another nationโ€™s ambassadors while still maintaining cordiality was executed that day.

As the carriages came to a stop, its occupants stepped out, their eyes taking in the sight of the royal palace. Despite the beauty of their surroundings, however, the delegates could not shake the sense of foreboding that hung over them. They knew that their mission was a delicate one, and that the Maritrian nobles would not take kindly to their proposal. They braced themselves for what lay ahead, knowing that the negotiations would not be easy. It was clear that their visit to Maritria was going to be an experience unlike any other.

While they did, delegate and attendant mightโ€™ve conversed amongst themselves before heading in to be received, conversation more or less masked by the shuffling of footmen unloading their trunks. When all was said & done, though, it went unsaid that the party ought to head in as a unit.



Thereโ€™d been no call for the entirety of the palaceโ€™s occupants to greet them, save for the royal family which had recently dwindled to a crown princess & her siblings; the sudden death of the countryโ€™s queen had left the widower king a recluse. All the same, the early birds among Maritrian nobles & other courtiers accompanied the family, preparing to receive the delegates of Rhonne and their attendants. The air was thick with tension, as rumors had been circulating that the foreign nation had come to propose unification that was effectively an absorption.

The grand hall had been prepared for the occasion, though minimally so, with national banners and flags hanging from the rafters. The Maritrian courtiers lined up in a row, some faces set in a stoic expression. A meeting later that week would instruct them to remain neutral during negotiations, but their hearts for today were heavy with the knowledge that the future of their kingdom was at stake.

Thereโ€™d be no grand occasions today or for the next couple of days, but rather a grace period to allow for their guests to recover from the long journey. No, for today & the week ahead, all there was to do was wait & humor these delegates the best one could. Until the delegates stepped into the palaceโ€™s grand hall, light chatter among hosts filled the air, with hushed whisper-gossip of maids doing well to dampen the silence.
 
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dante




filler



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  • home (filler tab)



































daughtry



alive








The Rhonne delegates were coming and the castle was live with movement.

Of course, their masters only needed to prepare themselves and their minds for whatever may come with the coming of the delegates. The servants, however, were hard at work for many days now in preparation for this day. It had gotten busy enough that they had pulled Dorian away from his regular duties as the groundskeeper and made him work around the castle. He wasn't complaining but the extra work without extra pay was damning. Not only that but it cut straight into his peaceful time alone in the courtyard where very few bothered him even with the added presence of the Maritrian nobility acting as their court.

"Do you really need me to be here during the welcoming?"
Dorian asked as he entered the kitchen where the chefs were hard at work to prepare for the banquet that would happen later on. Alongside them was his supervisor for the day, their head maid.
"I can just keep to myself in the courtyard. I'm sure they wouldn't care."


The head maid let out a long and suffering sigh. "Unfortunately, we need all hands on deck. For now, it would be best that you're available and that also means you should accompany the other butlers in the palace hall." Another voice called out to her and her head snapped towards that direction, barking out orders to some maids about something regarding the food.

Dorian watched in defeat as the head maid left the premises. Another butler caught him as he was about to leave and handed him a few sheets to cover the tables in the hall. It was still early in the morning and none of their guests have gathered there just yet. He immediately made his way to the hall and laid out the sheets alongside the other maids, listening to their idle chatter. While it was wrong of them to gossip about the current situation, that never stopped any of them from whispering about various things they had heard throughout their days. Oftentimes, they were ignored because their words hold no weight anywhere in the palace but themselves.

Hours ticked by and the hall was beginning to get filled with Maritrian nobles. Some of the maids and guards were called out to welcome the delegates at the entrance. Dorian ducked to the side with the other servants, keeping away from the nobles while still being in service range when called. The royal family hadn't made their appearance yet. He wondered if the princess was immediately going to put him into employ at the very start of this discussionโ€” well, he doubted he could find a whole lot of gossip right off the bat. And there were too many people around to really catch any long conversation. This was a field the maids were much better at.

He felt a touch on his back as someone settled beside him. An old friend who he practically grew up with, Mia. She was the daughter of one of the maids in the castle and had practically grown up within the grounds just like him. "I can feel your nervousness across the room, Don." Her back was straight as she surveyed the area, a hawk searching for help. "Hopefully, this doesn't last for too long. I mean, it's fun to have more people around but you know... it's kind of stressful."

Dorian snorted.
"The head maid was getting white hair from this day alone. I bet she's going to retire once the delegates go home."
He let out a puff of air, turning his eyes to his friend.
"A meeting that will decide the fate of our home... and we get to see it in front row seats."


"Lucky us."

They had no power to change the direction of where this talk would go yet they had a lot to lose. A worry that many of them had was the security of their job. Without the Maritrian royalty employing them, they would lose a large source of income for their respective families. They could only stand there and work while their lives seemed to hang in the balance of one treaty. Dorian would like to say he trusted the royal family to lead them in the right direction, or at least trust Princess Ireath to worm her way through a good deal, but preparing for the worst never hurt anyone.

"Lucky us indeed."






โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
โ€I know Iโ€™d go from rags to riches
If only youโ€™d say you careโ€ฆโ€


Alix Des ล’illets

- The mood, delighted and relieved


โ€œNoรฉmie, stop fidgeting around so much. Theyโ€™ll think we have lice with how you squirmโ€ A cloud of smoke was added to by the emanations from the pale freckled woman stewing in the middle of it. Alix took another long draw from her pipe, teeth leaving a set of irregular notches in the ivory as she bit down in thought. โ€œAs if the Royal family already doesnโ€™t treat us that way. Letโ€™s do our best to avoid feeding into the rumors, okay pollywog?โ€

The doe eyed girl of twelve didnโ€™t respond, just a slight flickering of her eyes to her mother, then back to her journal. Noรฉmie was irritating her in a suspiciously purposeful way, her daughter given to these flights of rebellion in such minor ways as they couldnโ€™t be chastised openly. Nail biting, fidgeting, clicking her tongue as she ate. It was obviously meant to stoke her ire but she wasnโ€™t sure. The raven haired girl took after her father, Alix unable to read her properly. She barely even spoke, the girl scratching and scratching in her journal all day long. She eyed the red, leather bound book, the contents fairly benign but curious in the direction they could take.

Smoke once again slipped out from her nose, the exhalation half a sigh as the coach jostled. Like most things in her house, it was repurposed. Or possibly repossessed. Belonging previously to another family, the Des ล’illets flower had been burned into the wood of the exterior, along with the addition of a layer of armor around the passenger compartment. As usual, the family snubbed the Royal transport and opted for private accommodations, trusted coachmen and well armed, properly vested footmen. Their long black coats slapping the exterior of the coach, hiding an arsenal of black powder weaponry beneath the darkened leather, viciousness of their appearance matched only by the lifelessness behind their eyes.

Despite the inventory of the usual Des ล’illets armaments and the inward stress of parental responsibilities, Alix was actually feeling quite good. The smoke elevated her feelings further. The Royal family looked bad, Rhonne was moving in and Gnoa was prepping for war. It meant egg on the face of the establishment and lots and lots of traffic moving from both sides of the river. Such a chaotic mess brewing meant a solid opportunity for profit on both banks and work for the pirates, not to mention the smugglers, as long as Lord high and mighty Kellerman wouldnโ€™t be able to maintain such a tight grip on the blockades with war brewing in his backyard.

She scoffed, letting the embers burning in her pipe scorch the riverhemp, giving her smoke an acrid tongue dulling feel. Noรฉmie clicked her tongue again, causing Alix to look away in frustration, catching sight of the palace.

โ€œOh thank goodness, weโ€™ve made it yet again. Noรฉmie, put the journal away and straighten up, we are here.โ€ Alix leaned forward, patting her daughter on the knee before leaning back to douse her pipe out the window. They were here alright, their arrival however, had happened many years ago.

With their coach being unloaded by her black cloaked footmen and Noรฉmie in tow, the Des ล’illets entourage crossed the notably well maintained grounds to the palace hall with an air of casual comfort. This wasnโ€™t her first visit to the palace, not even her second. Though she was forced to slow her purposeful stride into the main hall as this was her daughters first time witnessing an estate not slowly sinking into river mud. Alix reached back slowly as they strolled up, gently closing her daughters open mouth. โ€œItโ€™s amazing what you can build on solid land isnโ€™t it?โ€ The girl nodded, still awestruck.

Alix grinned, waving the servants over to open the door into the hall and without waiting for the footmen she spoke up. โ€œBaroness Alix Des ล’illets, Master of the Western bank, Holder of Berth, and the beautiful Lady Noรฉmie Des ล’illetsโ€

She pat the cheek of the crier and stepped into the hall, lighting her pipe and staring down the attendees. โ€œGood tidings everyone. Have we arrived too early?โ€
 










scroll
alys.





maritrian royal palace, great hall





dorian (briefly), alix, anyone else freel free to join.





all.











Doom and gloom. Alys wrinkled her nose at her mirror and dabbed a last bit of red onto the corner of her mouth before setting the brush down. It wouldnโ€™t do, she told herself, to look too peppy for the occasion. The arrival of the Rhonne delegation was only cause for cheer on the surface, after all, and no one would care to know these pretty paints felt like armor.

Just for today, sheโ€™d forgone her usual extravagant styleโŽฏor so she claimed. Mourning black though it was, the gown sheโ€™d chosen was anything but simple, with elegant draping and highlights sewn from cloth-of-silver, little threaded stars littered across its hems. She did have an image to uphold, after all, even in the midst of an unprecedented political crisis. ( If anything, it meant she had to work even harder not to go out of style. )

From underneath the brim of her wide hat, she peered at the assembly. Her vantage point wasnโ€™t half-bad, not too far from the royal family as to be considered irrelevant but removed enough from the center of the action that she could watch the rest of the attendees at leisure. Most were faces she knew, members of the staff or the usual set of courtiers, but a few were newcomers or occasional visitors. The *crรจme de la crรจme* of Maritria must have made the trip over to the capital for the event, as expected. Part of her delighted in this knowledge, elated at the thought of drawing some fresh blood into her pool of regulars ; the rest would have gladly stuck with the same old routine, rather than have Rhonmen live between these walls for such an extended period of time.

Why would anything go wrong? The last ten years had been fine, more than fine. If whatever higher power out there meant to topple her from her current position, itโ€™d had many opportunities to do so. This was one tense patch to get through, nothing more.

Spotting Dorian among the ranks of the servants, she gave him a grin and a little wave before leaning back into her seat, surveying the slow trickle of guests as they came in, announced by the crier in a seemingly endless litany of titles. Only a change in pace made her perk up, the clear ringing of a feminine voice cutting through the usual chanting.

โ€œ
Maybe so,
โ€ Alys drawled. โ€œ
Nothing excitingโ€™s happened yet, if thatโ€™s the question.
โ€ Any moment now, though. โ€œ
Refreshments?
โ€




โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 






โ™กdesign by howlingwoods, coded by uxieโ™ก

NOTE: Date appellation is arbitrary and could very well just be how people in Arrlenstadt count the years
โœฟ โœฟ โœฟ










โ€œI see the gatesโ€“Ah weโ€™ve reached, finally!โ€ The hazel-eyed blonde exclaimed, shifting in her seat as she gazed out the rattling glass windows of her gilded enclosed carriage, โ€œI swear my butt will be sorely bruised if I had to go through another hour of this jostling.โ€ The duchess giggled as the dark armoured figure looked away with embarrassment at her choice of words, she loved teasing Wren and seeing his cheeks colour.

1b31eac58259dad6057407.png
โ€œMayhap you can add a few score shipments of Clairmont axles and absorbers to sweeten the negotiations, your grace, I'm sure the Marquisโ€“โ€ the head of her guard retinue paused mid-sentence when the duchess, who sat across from him, playfully slapped his knee.

โ€œYour Grace?? Tis' convenient that youโ€™ve forgotten my name like all those faceless boot-lickers,โ€ Amiecia stifled a dramatic mock sniffle, โ€œplease do not deny me the last of my casual comforts dearest Master Wren, I can already feel the cloying sweetness of propriety and decorum bleaching the colour from these beautiful silks.โ€ Amiecia huffed, hands moving to adjust the bodice of her royal blue travel gown. Dyed a deep azure, the Dahlian Moth silks caught the rays of sunlight that reflected off the jewels and gold chains that were sewn into her dress making the fabric appear to shimmer with an inner light. She made a mental note to complement Duke Godefroyโ€™s skilled artisan weavers and tailors who had bespoke her entire wardrobe for the diplomatic mission. Rubain was here along with her cousin Carallia and though their relationships were largely professional, it was always nice to see familiar faces in foreign lands.

Wren scoffed at her retort, standing up just as the carriage gradually slowed to a halt. His hand indicated for Amiecia to remain seated as he opened the carriage door to step out first, his movements were poised and controlled, a precautionary measure out of habit to ensure that the duchess was safe, though not to the extent of appearing distrustful of their hosts. Satisfied, he turned and held the door open for the Duchess with one arm extended for her to steady herself.

Seeing as they were in the foremost carriage, Amiecia noted that they were among the first to dismount. She paused on the threshold for a moment to take in the unremarkable sight of the Maritrian Royal Palace. A pleasant smile of wonderment painted upon ruby lips as she regarded the welcoming entourage of servants and guardsmen, along with the gathering of various nobles and amicable courtiers. Pennants of various heraldry hung from their flagpoles, though none as prominent as the colours of Maritria.

It surely was a grand moment and to the royal familyโ€™s credit, they did not seem to spare any expense to make the foreign delegates feel welcome. But like the cracked paints among stalwart pillars, for an independent nation with history so rich, what they could spare seemed a little. . . limited. She could taste the strained smiles and wary eyes on the tip of her tongue. It tasted divine. A tapestry of sincerest pretence.

โ€œDaffoilettes!โ€ The Duchess gasped in quiet delight as a gust of wind blew pale pink petals across their path. With their paper-thin almost transparent petals, they were a rare sight back in Arrlenstadt where the Duchess' efforts to cultivate them went largely unsuccessful. She clutched at her guardsman's arm as Wren led the way towards the grand hall, pausing momentarily to allow the entrance of some notables ahead. When it was their turn, the crier announced her arrival.

โ€œDuchess Amiecia de`Valliere Governor of the Duchy of Arrlenstadt and chosen delegate of Rhonne.โ€

Mouthing her thanks to the crier, who seemed to appreciate the direct attention, they stepped forward into the hall to allow the entrance of the others. A demure smile graced Amieciaโ€™s lips as she drifted into the growing crowd. Although her eyes never lingered longer than was necessary, sheโ€™d already identified a few of the significant players in the coming negotiations.

Baroness Alix Des ล’illets. She had garnered quite the name for herself as inherited ruler of the Western bank, even if some of the whispers were of things less than regal. Nonetheless, the baroness had power and knew to wield it. Amiecia respected that. After all, if you were going to buy a country, it is best to know who your sellers were.


โœฟ โœฟ โœฟ​
]







Rhonne Delegate



amiecia.








  • filler tab!





โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
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Lady Lillian โ€˜Lilyโ€™ Euers





































  • mood



    Intrigued

















A hopeful dream of reconciliation was ruined within the first hour of her arrival. Lillian didn't have much hope for family matters, especially when her father held an iron grip over the home. At least the journey wasn't an entirely lost cause: While Lillian avoided her father's company, she spent what little time she had with her siblings and mother.

Distributing gifts, playing dress-up and hand puppets to the younger bunch, and enjoying a small bout of horse riding with her elder brother. The day was too short, hours too few. Before she knew it, Lily sat back in that god-awful gilded carriage, traversing the dirt paths back to the palace.

Despite only being a fleeting visit, Lily was happy to be back at the palace with familiar faces. While she loved certain family members, the Princess was her chosen sister- Someone she adored and treasured. Lily hadn't managed to bond with any of her actual sisters in that way, and she wasn't given a chance with her father's ever-watching eye.

'Do this, do that.' It was a common occurrence in her household. 'Lillian, you will marry him immediately!'
'But father!' The arguments would continue, a hefty headache ebbing away at the skulls of those around. Lily, too left with a thud in her head, echoing dismal words leaving her a sulking husk.

Thankfully she lay on a familiar cot in the dead of night, dress neatly put away and hair left to its own defence while she tossed and turned on frightful words.
Empty threats unleashed feelings that had been bottled up for far too long. A sting in her cheek, reddened, sore.
'I will only marry once the Princess does.'
'You will do what's best for this house, Goddamnit!'
'The best thing for this house, father, is if you were six feet under in a cold grave, rotting away!'

The slap was understandable. Her emotions, usually hidden, are expressed in a fury akin to a banshee from one of the storybooks. How many times would she be forced into something she didn't want. Coerced into agreeing with some silly plan just so she was removed from the Euers' name.

The night was getting on, the hours passing by her quickly, and, with one last glance towards the bedside cabinet, Lily smiled at the bundle of seeds she'd managed to stow away in a handkerchief.

How had Dorian's day been today? And the Princess? She'd find out in the morning.

ยฐใ€‚ยฐใ€‚ยฐใ€‚ยฐใ€‚ยฐใ€‚ยฐใ€‚

Getting ready for such a momentous day had its ups and downs. While she usually wore comfortable dresses, today was one of those days when elegance needed to be seen. She couldn't just be Lillian, the lady-in-waiting to the Princess. No, she needed to be Lady Lillian Euers. Daughter of the esteemed Euer family and, if gossip were to be believed, the illegitimate daughter of a Prince.

Her morning had been spent running around for the most part. Helping to get things ready and, as long as the Princess needed her, she tended to her friend. It was only a short time before she was sent away for leisure or to find someone else who needed help.

In the briefest glimpses she caught of her reflection, Lily was ever thankful that her pretty face was void of swollen shape. She had an excuse at the ready, just in case. Thankfully it wouldn't be needed. Clutching the handkerchief to her side, the white material was stained with the soil from her home garden- She hoped that Dorian wouldn't mind too much when he received it.
If she could find him.

Empty were the gardens, particularly the hedges and flowerbeds. No sign of the familiar groundskeeper that often placated a smile upon her lips. Lily couldn't locate him in the halls, not even when she briefly poked her head into the kitchen. Were they missing one another?

Several times she waved her hand at the staff, dismissing their inquiries. Surely it would be better to return to her Princesses' side rather than wander the halls like a hopeless idiot.
Lilan sighed for what seemed to be the twentieth time that morning, and with as much energy that she could muster, she dedicated herself to helping with the miscellaneous jobs.

Before the arrival of guests, Lillian had managed to hide amongst the servants in the hall, placing herself in a prime position to keep an eye on the delegates arriving and to garner interesting information for her dear Princess. She moved with graceful ease, weaving between people as the crier announced the names of distinguished guests.

Whispers, fickle, hushed voices that tried to steel themselves to the shadows but failed. Wagging tongues, skewered opinions and hopeful signs of a rich demise. It was easy at times to guess what one was thinking just from the look on their face- The court servants were such a wonder, especially those who pocketed shillings in return for information. Lillian avoided such gestures, replying with a sweet smile and moving on without a word. The information she had to give wasn't something that could be bought.

Only time would tell what the delegates would bring to the court. A morbid fascination for the collapsing economy? A bridge to success, mayhaps. Profitable trading between two countries, more. With the delegates entering and more arriving, several outcomes could be possible. Lillian could only hope that they would be in favour of her Princess.

"Lady Lillian, aren't you a tad bit early," a maid, Catherine, piped up beside her. The buxom woman, clad in the usual attire of the maids, glanced around Lilan as if expecting company. "And without the Princess, no less."

"She sent me down first,"
A curt response, leaving no room for probing.
"Have you seen Sir Dorian?"
Lillian asked, smoothing her free hand down the front of her blue dress.

"He's been of wonderous help." Catherine rattled on, compliments falling upon deaf ears as she finally pointed out the silhouette of the groundskeeper. "Shall I fetch him, m'lady?"

"No need, Catherine."
Lillian smiled once more at the maid,
"He seems preoccupied at the moment. I'll find a chance to approach him later."
With a polite nod, Lily wandered from Catherine, manoeuvring herself against a far wall as she awaited the arrival of her Princess, and listened to the announcements of the crier.















โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
Sacha Girout
Delegate of Rhonne
The monotonous, echoing sounds of the carriage rattling on the gravel roads were the only noises filling up Sachaโ€™s carriage. This gentle swaying of his cart was profoundly reminiscent of his time at sea, which eased him, albeit temporarily, at the concept of parting with it for these next three years.

Wheels and hooves clashing with the roads provided a gentle, rumbling ambiance. Such a sensation already assisted in the creation of many naps, though by this point heโ€™s rested too much, in spite of the moon still hovering in the sky. Outside wildflowers and hills were abundant, and provided a decent enough sight to captivate Sachaโ€™s dwindling attention.

This trip to Maritria wasnโ€™t something Sacha would have willingly embarked upon if he had a choice. Being specifically appointed to this mission by the Empress herself has this certain persuasive effect that means anything sheโ€™s asking is mandatory. His duchy must maintain a positive relationship with the Crown, and with his father still technically the Duke, Sacha would have been the easy, disposable choice of everyone at his estate to send offโ€ฆ WOULD have been, if he specifically wasn't the one called by the Empress to spend a month in a fucking carriage to stay in Maritria for three fucking years to absolve them into his native Rhonne.

โ€œWhat, how did this happen! How the FUCK-โ€ plagued his internal thoughts on loop in the days post being summoned. Much of his time spent on the road was consumed by the paralyzing fear that Her Highness actually knew specifically who he was and inexplicably believed him to be one of the best figures in all of Rhonne to send in as a diplomat. Itโ€™s one thing for the Empress to request assistance from his duchy, itโ€™s another thing to point a finger at Sacha himself and ask for his attendance.

Were his trades TOO good? Did she see his fleet?! He hadnโ€™t taken Her Highness to be interested in seafaring... Thereโ€™s no way he did anything else to attract attention. How did he end up here?

The luscious meadows blurred together until the sight of Maritiraโ€™s royal palace came into view. Fuck, the one thing grounding him to reality was about to stop. Heโ€™s already thought too much about the implications of joining this delegation. As the carriage finally came to a stop, he breathed in, then out. In, then out. In, then- โ€œI canโ€™t walk in there yetโ€ he thought.

Opening the door to his carriage, a gentle breeze and the stars welcomed Sacha to this mountainous micronation. Standing on wobbly legs, he exited the carriage and noticed all of his attendance were still occupied with something or rather, and his entourage of artists (that he definitely did not tell anyone in Maritria he brought) were chatting up a storm amongst themselves.

Something else he also noticed was the lack of other carriages. It seemed he was the first to arrive? An unexpected revelation indeed. Maybe not unexpected. It was the crack of dawn after all. Though perhaps he assumed incorrectly that another one of his countrymen would have made such impeccable timing. In any case, he supposed this was a great chance to slip off and peruse the outside portions of the palace until others from his delegation entered.

If your expectations of Sacha are strictly results-based, you'd be content. Results are what he gets. If your expectations of Sacha are to go beyond and find it easy to be THE representation of his entire nation, even if for but a moment, youโ€™d be disappointed.

His arrival created a great opportunity for Sacha to remember what walking was, after being cooped up for so long. The mountain air proved to be quite refreshing, and the plants around the palace were quite well kept. It helped quell his throbbing head. This respite was greatly appreciated. For the first time in hours, he had stopped thinking about the purpose of his agonizingly long journey.

Trotting further away from the entrance to the palace, Sacha had found a lovely garden to peruse. The fragrance emitted from the flowers lulled him into a trance. Stress had claimed him, and sleep welcomed him once more this morning.

He awoke to the sounds of singing birds and the sun in his face. Strange, he thought he moved past passing out from stress? A note was in his hand, evidently from his head attendant based off the penmanship:

โ€œSir, we tried to wake you up. As a reminder, though you donโ€™t need it, be sure to rendezvous with us before entering the Palace. Some of your artists were quite captivated by your sleeping form, just as a warning.โ€

Not again. Without further delay, he stood up and brushed the dirt off his clothes.

With a clearer head, each step he took grew in confidence. This was what he was used to. God forbid if any of the Maritrians saw how he was when he first exited the carriage! Though it wasnโ€™t yet time for him to enter, evidently.

Perhaps Sachaโ€™s timing was a bitโ€ฆ too good. Curse his entourageโ€™s effectiveness. Though it seems they figured him out, and found a more secluded section to park their carriages- turning towards the west wing, so they wouldnโ€™t easily be spotted by new arrivals.

Certainly, this was his entourageโ€™s way of getting back at him. He may have swapped the map from the first carriage driverโ€™s seat that guided them from Charente to the Maritrian capital with a drawing he concocted of rabbits, standing on their hind legs and wearing striking expressions, skinning a man alive.

As some of the only people on Earth that knew of his predisposition towards excessive attention, being the first to arrive was among the last things Sacha would have wanted, thus their timing grew suspect.

How had it taken him so long to realize this? Perhaps this trip had already taken its toll on his psyche? This realization deflated all the confidence he had built up. His bubble had burst, he was too slow at the moment. He wasnโ€™t ready to begin this whole affairโ€ฆ

As the sun ascended further up into the sky, Sacha noted the sight of carriages increasing in size. He, in one of his more extravagant white suits and dark slacks, found a nice bush to hide behind without disturbing it too much.

Was this his greatest plan? No, not really. Was this the best thing he could come up with in that split second? Absolutely. Did he begin to regret it the second the branches began stabbing his arms? Definitely.

After some time had passed, he noticed one of the arriving carriages belonged to Amiecia de`Valliere, one of his fellow delegates.

โ€œWait Iโ€™m not alone now, we can meet up and devise a pla-โ€ a smile grew on his face as he began to strategize, but he paled at the sight of Amiecia entering the palace with a knight, he assumed. That smile was promptly wiped off his face, and his eyes grew wide.

โ€œFuckโ€ he exhaled.
code by @Nano
 
Icon_Vali.png

Vali Astaroth
โ€” Royal Jester โ€”

The radiant sun arose from beyond the horizon, and the first rays of dawn breached the palace windows, illuminating the dark room. From the shade of his bed, Vali sat perched off the edge, amethyst optics fixed on a single beam of light dispersed along the floor. Bored, he let out a dejected sigh. The day had only just begun, but his insatiable mind was ravenous, rebelling against stagnation. The incessant clicking of his ornate pocket knife as the blade drew in and out of its handle-sheath was the only thing quelling his enigmatic disposition. But that was all about to change. After many months of patiently yearning, he would finally feast upon the inevitable mayhem that was bound to ensue, for today was the dayโ€”the beginning of the end.

Vali wandered across the room, stopping by the dressing table, and leaning his hands on the ligneous surface as he drew his face closer to the mirror. He paused, gazing upon his crestfallen reflection. His appearance was vibrant and uncanny. His silver locks were streaked with shades of magenta and violet, matching the colour of his attire. As the royal jester, eccentricity was merely part of the job description.

Clicking his tongue, he opened the drawer, dropping his knife inside before closing it shut. He adjusted his suit and tie, neatening out the unevenness, and styled his hair by running his fingers through his shocks.

"That should do," he mused, glancing at himself one final time in the mirror. Satisfied, he exited his chamber and proceeded through the palace.

The jester strolled through the lavish hallways upheld by mountainous marble pillars, sunlight bursting through the tall arched windows, casting a warm golden glow on all it touched. The palace was busy, more so than usual, and rightfully so. After all, Rhonne's delegates would be arriving very soon. Hordes of servants and maids stormed up and down like a hive of bees, faces overwhelmed. Their panic-stricken eyes caused Vali to crack a smirk. If merely the arrival of their neighbours was enough to illicit this much turmoil, then one could only imagine the bedlam that may stem from discord in the courtroom. Never mind the threat of conflict against the warmongering expansionists of Gnoa, Vali's homeland.

As he arrived at the foot of the bifurcating stairways, two maids noticed him approaching and immediately began to whisper, believing they could gossip unheard. But Vali's keen hearing was incredibly perceptive, able to discern their faint utterings. No secret was safe with him. They branded him a buffoon, a lunatic, a madman. Though, none of these weightless insults phased him. He'd suffered far worse.

Vali glared at one of the maids. Dirty blond hair tied into pigtails, olive green eyes, pink plump lips, and a mole above the left corner of her mouth. He recognised her from several weeks ago, noticing her cast a jealous gaze upon her lady's husband. Several days later, with a little trickster's intuition, he spied her again, tearing the fabric of her lady's smock, which was to be worn beneath a dress for a dance later that evening, hoping none would notice her base actions.

Ordinarily, Vali would have seized her current slight against him as an opportunity to expose her misdeeds to her master, and then the fun part, he would watch in delight as she would be disciplined with humiliating lashes. But not today. He was currently in a good mood, fortunately for her. Besides, he had no need to waste his efforts on sardines such as her, not when, in a little while, there would be bigger fish to fry.

The jester walked past them, without starting a scene. He climbed the flight of stairs to the uppermost floor, making his way down to the end of the corridor, where he stepped outside onto the balcony, a gust of enlivening cold air blustering past. Vali stepped toward the stone railing and leaned over the edge. Looking off into the distance, a mischievous smirk curved his lips when he saw itโ€”a royal cavalcade of horses and carriages, arriving from the west.

At last, they were here.

"Hmph. About time... Let the games begin."
 
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Rubain Godefroy
Tags:
mond mond Colorless Spectrum Colorless Spectrum


81d59fe86d25cefc0959e3e7a6a4438f.png
It was Rubain's favorite tale. A heart of darkness, shrouded in hate and misery, only to be lifted by a ray of light. A light that guided and funneled warmth and comfort to the cold hopelessness. It rejected the affection, shunned the light and thought it best for them to remain apart. But the light was persisten. The heart of darkness saw its clouds depart, revealing what was love. Behind it was more than just lightโ€”a giver. The giver of light rejoiced, and the forces became one. Both lived happily ever after.

Maybe one day the tale would be retold with Maritria and Rhonne.

And maybe, just maybe, he would cross into the last step of the story, holding his light in his arms...

Their carriage arrived shortly after Amiecia de`Valliere's. Rubain flinched when it jolted to a stop; he had to take a few silent breaths. A call from their retinue outside reaffirmed the arrival. Rubain shifted his focus out the window. He'd seen it in passing before, but their destination drove it home. "Maritria truly is beautiful... I was taken aback by the natural lands of theirs, but their palace is simply marvelous. And their garden! Even from afar, I'm in awe of their colors and patternsโ€”I should head there as soon as I'm able to..."

Though as Rubain scrutinized the garden, a certain tuft of hair caught his eye. It bounced and moved behind a bush, peeking out at Amiecia as she became the first Rhonne to officially enter Maritria's grace. Curious...

"I do hope they accept our aid." Rubain finally looked to his betrothed, seated across from him. Cara. A woman he initially thought he would grow to despise, but rather pleasantly allied himself with. Their presence in their home kingdom elevated their influence tenfold, but whether that held any power in Maritria was to be seen. "I shall head out first, 'dear'. It seems I was not the only one enchanted by the garden."

Gently, he sat up and descended from the carriage, their servants dutifully at the side of his exit.

And, keeping the same pace, he approached the shrubbery he had his eye on.

"Fuck."

"Such barbaric language is not befitting of us, my friend." Rubain leaned over the bush, smiling down on his fellow Rhonnian. "What is on your mind? I doubt Maritian nobility will be merciful to a delegate with grass staining his bottom. Especially if they have painted us as wicked." As though he were floating, the Duke gracefully moved around the bush, lowering himself to Sacha while keeping his own attire barely above the ground.
 
Sacha Girout
Delegate of Rhonne

To Sachaโ€™s amazement, this day inexplicably got worse. Debatably, this could be the worst day of his life.

Surely itโ€™s one thing to get lost in his own head regarding the actions of his Empress, his entourage messing with him, and for members of his own delegation to throw strategy out the window and storm the palace on their own.

Getting CAUGHT in a bush at the front of the Maritiran palace is another matter entirely. Significantly worse in his own books. He sincerely had hoped nobody would have noticed him in this compromising position.

"Such barbaric language is not befitting of us, my friend." Rubain leaned over the bush, smiling down on his fellow Rhonnian. "What is on your mind? I doubt Maritian nobility will be merciful to a delegate with grass staining his bottom. Especially if they have painted us as wicked."

Sacha had stiffened when Rubain first spoke, but he locked eyes as the other duke knelt to his level, noting his caution to not sully his garments with the nature currently surrounding them.

The sight of the most painted man in Rhonne swooping out of his carriage straight for the defiled bush he had taken temporary residence at wasnโ€™t on his โ€œMaritiran Takeover Lotto Card,โ€ to put it lightly. This situation could easily be worse though, at the very least the โ€œthreatโ€ before him was a member of his own delegation. A fellow countryman.

Their true opponents hadnโ€™t taken notice of this situation yet, probably. Certainly, this was a true recipe for disaster if they idled their positions for too long.

โ€œAh Your Grace, pleased to meet your acquaintance in this shrubbery. Itโ€™s nothing a good meditation in nature cannot remedy. Pray tell, how did you find me here, and where might the rest of us be?โ€
code by @Nano
 




















Ireath

crown princess of maritria









It has been a while since the royal palace enjoyed alleviated extravagance and sprightly bustle. The forlorn circumstances of Maritria hasn't been kind to celebrations; jubilant occasions typically warranted great spendings that their coffers currently couldn't uphold. Thus, it felt a little strange to see the welcoming beams of the ladies and the excited chatters of the servants as their feet pattered around the decorated halls. Albeit strange as it may be, it was still a refreshing break from the bleakness that has been consuming the castle for the past months.

A silhouette peered from the window of the King's chambers, pale hands brushing away the scarlet curtains that framed the aperture as dots of people entered the royal establishment below. Lilac gaze focused on each guests, a look of slight amusement in her face as her lips thinly curled into a smile. A few moments later, she withdrew her hands and let the thick fabric cover the glass panes, once again submerging the room into its familiar dimness. The female turned and made her way to the bedside, platinum hair swaying with grace until she sat on a chair that faced the bed's occupant.

"Father." She called, voice gentle and smooth like a morning dew on their lush garden. "Our guests are starting to arrive. Shall we go and greet them?"

A weak grunt met her words as the bedridden King shuffled to gaze at her. "My sweet Ireath, go on first and I'll follow. I promise once I get better, I'll converse with the delegates and bring Maritria back on its feet." A wheeze followed his sentences, almost as if speaking was the most arduous task he had ever done. He raised his bony hand to weakly clasp his daughter's. "I just- I just need some time to rest..."

Silence followed as Ireath merely stared at her father, almost as if she was watching a play she had seen all her life. "Of course."

A strained sigh escaped his lips as his hand began to shake. "You- you have the same eyes as your mother."

"I know."

"She would've loved the festivity. If only she was still here with us..."
Tears welled up on the corner of his eyes and soon, they trickled down his sunken cheeks like light rain. Though, unlike a downpour nourishing crops, the pitiful sight only fueled the flames within Ireath's heart. "Oh, how I miss her so. My Queen, please come back... I'll do anything. Anything!"

As the King degraded to a sorry mess of desperate pleas and incoherent sobs, the princess let go of his hand and stood up. Her father has broken plenty of promises ever since they lost her mother. She knew better than to believe that he'd follow her, or get better. She already accepted she was going to face everything alone. She no longer had any qualms about it. If destiny had claimed her shoulders strong enough to carry a kingdom, then so be it.

"It'd be best if I take my leave. I have many to welcome."

She smiled as she headed for the door, each step taking her closer and closer to the fray that would determine the fate of her kingdom.

---

"Mirea. I expect you to be on your best behavior throughout the event. I implore you to think before letting each word slip out of your mouth and do not instigate any chaos. It'd be wise for you to refrain from disappointing me, lest I provisionally take a couple of your privileges."

It was the content of a letter that the Crown Princess had written for her younger sibling. It was no secret that the pair of sisters has a certain... dynamic. Ireath would be lying if she said that it didn't bother her that the younger princess would rarely act cordial with her even in public, but years of attempts had proven that the she and Mirea were like oil and water. They could never seem to get along no matter how hard she tried.

"Find my sister and deliver this parchment to her. Make sure she reads it thoroughly before you remind her to greet the guests with me." Princess Ireath told a servant before handing the letter to him. The man left after a deep bow, and Ireath made her way to the royal threshold of the grand hall where a couple of guards waited for her. She took a deep breath as chatters from the other side reached her ears. Posturing greatly exhausted her but sadly it was a staple for nobility.

Once she made sure that she looked perfectly presentable, the Crown Princess of Maritria slowly entered the grand hall through the elevated balcony saved for the royal family. The high brassy sound of trumpets promptly blared and resonated throughout the spacious foyer as the fanfare announced her entrance. She waved and smiled as she gracefully walked to the center of the balcony, a pretentious custom taught to her ever since she was young. It was rather silly, but it was what was expected of her.

"My warmest of welcome to our dear guests, both from nearby and afar! The palace sincerely wishes you enjoy your stay, and please do approach any of our staffs if you'd like to be escorted to your quarters. I'm sure many of you are feeling tired from the hours of travel. Although if that's not the case, parts of the palace are yours to explore and jovial socialization is always fancied." Princess Ireath said, a gentle smile on her face as she tilted her head slightly to the side.

With the general pleasantries out of the way, the young monarch made her way down the staircase to better familiarize herself with the guests. From her spot, she took notice of a couple of familiar faces. One being Lily, her most trusted lady-in-waiting, whom she could only hope to be enjoying herself instead of worrying about her duty to her. After all, she sent her down first for that particular reason. She was aware that the maiden longed for a normal life, and the princess knew that it was something she wouldn't be able to achieve by her side. On the other hand, her close friend Dorian was also among the crowd. Although the man was neither a Maritrian noble or a Rhonne delegate, he still held an important role in her court. Unlike Lily, Ireath expected Dorian to keep his job in his mind at all times.























mood

calm








outfit









location

the grand hall








tags

Kovacs Kovacs AI10100 AI10100 Sybela Sybela @/everyone in the grand hall








โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
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Zehra Albrecht

"Just.. one more pull.. M'lady!" Cried out a servant girl who tugged on the strings of Zehra's corset with all her weight.

"Almost there!" Whimpered out the other attendant who held the garment pieces as close as possible so they could easily be strung together.

"I- Enough!" Zehra screamed in agony as her sharp nails gripped her bed's wooden pole tightly enough to leave an indentation. Despite the irony, Zehra's protest forced the remaining air in her body to escape, leaving enough room to close the bodice. And so, before their lady could stop them, the servant girls tied the girdle up as quickly as possible. In the end, Zehra was left in the most uncomfortable, unbearable, rib-destroying corset in history.

"I'll never understand this blasted society and it's-" The attendants then stretched Zehra's gown over her head and wrapped it around her body, molding to her curves. "Stupid rules." She mumbled with the click of her tongue. Once the woman was dressed in her finest attire, everything from her prized jewelry to her accent decors, she glanced at herself in the full length mirror that stood in the corner of her room. As she examined her body from bottom to top, her gaze paused at the neck.

"Jezebel. The necklace." Zehra commanded, her hand held out so that the ornament could be placed on her palm.

"But M'Lady, I'd be more than honored to-"

"No. I'm going to put it on myself." She responded sternly, a glare shot in the attendant's direction. The servant girl winced and kept her mouth tightly sealed as she carefully delivered the piece of jewellery into Zehra's grasp. In order to avoid getting caught while putting on the necklace, the noblewoman swept some of her hair to the side before donning it. Once again, she examined her neck in the mirror, but now her lips were painted with a rare smile. While the ornament was one of the more modest possessions she owned, she considered it to be the most precious. With a crescent moon pendant attached to a gold chain, the piece was as simple as could be. However, its significance came from the fact that it was part of a necklace set with her beloved twin sister. Zehra traced her pointer finger around the charm with a soft expression. She missed her sister. It had been nearly three whole days since they were apart, and she was eager to see her again.

A few nights ago, while attending an esteemed noblewoman's gathering, Zehra threw a teacup out of rage. Needless to say, her father was not pleased with her actions, and banished Zehra to their country estate to teach her a lesson. While Zehra, of course, pined for the more spacious bed at their main residence, what she missed most was her sister. She lost herself in a train of thought while admiring her necklace, but an annoying disturbance soon interrupted the tranquility.

"M'lady! The carriage is ready!" The coach boy called out, his voice chipper in excitement to leave for the royal palace.

"Yeah. Yeah." She rolled her eyes with resignation as she grabbed what she needed, mentally prepared for the excruciatingly long journey, and headed out the door.

---

In her lifetime, Zehra had visited the royal palace only once. Her father was called to discuss a matter with the king when he was still in good health many, many years ago. Despite all of the time that had passed, the castle hadn't changed a bit, and it was still as daunting to look at as it was the first time. Zehra was escorted out of the carriage by the couch boy, and the noblewoman soon made her way towards the grand doors where she hoped to open them to welcome her sister. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case as she was seemingly the first of the duo to arrive. And so, Zehra grabbed a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter and sipped it as she anticipated her sister's arrival. Rather than interacting with other attending guests, she ignored all introductions as she knew she would lose her temper if she did so. All seemed quiet, but a slight eye twitch suddenly struck Zehra the moment she spotted one of her most hated enemies. His name was Sacha Girout, and he was her sister's fiance. With her sudden rage, Zehra nearly broke her wine glass when she saw him. However, she promised herself to behave until her sister had gotten there. With a sour expression on her face, Zehra rapidly emptied her drink and grabbed for another. It was going to be a long event.


---

Mentions: Uniko Uniko mond mond
coded by yukitera & khocolatte
 

Carallia Adair Einfeld

"You truly are a man of beauty. What did I do to deserve your hand in marriage?" Cara sarcastically whispered to herself, just loud enough for Rubain to hear. A smirk accompanied her words.

While Rubain marveled at Maritria's beauty, a man of the aesthetic that he is. Cara was solely focused on what move she would take. Should she approach the Princess and create rapport directly? Or perhaps find out and learn of the people closest to her first? And what about the King? She needed to get an audience and present her offer at some point. It is her trump card after all. A great gamble too. She wasn't one for taking such a big risk but if this was what would get them an alliance then her future might just be set in stone.

"I hope so too, it isn't just beneficial for us but for them too." She said as her eyes finally decided to wander over Maritria. Rubain wasn't wrong, the palace, the garden, and the whole country had its own beauty. It's charm. Still, aesthetics were never much of an interest to Cara, not for a child like her who grew up the way she did. It was simply part of the job to look the way she did.

"Don't take too long in the gardens, darling. We still have people to meet and it's better if we are seen together." She said sweetly as her fiancรฉ stepped out of their carriage.

She felt a movement by her side, her companion, Sirna. "My Lady, we have arrived at the front of the Palace. Hador will meet us inside once he has taken care of the carriage." Fraternal twins, Sirna and Hador, were born under the family lineage that has been loyal to the Marquis of Gilnaer and has been one of the few people that Cara would consider her friends.

The two women had made their stride towards the front door, the voice of the Crowned Princess resonating from above. Sirna had whispered something to the crier before their entrance. "Lady Carallia Adair Einfeld of the March of Gilnaer, and a chosen delegate of Rhonne."

Cara had provided a quick thank you to the crier before ushering her companion to follow her inside. Her eyes swept over the faces that had lined up. All are unfamiliar except for one. A smile adorned her face, the smallest of fondness laid on her lips as she looked at her cousin. She mouthed a small "Hi" before she trod next to the young woman in a blue dress. She watched as the Princess of Maritria walked down the stairs, scanning the room. When the lilac eyes had landed on her, or rather, the person beside her, Carallia had offered a curtsy. Whether she was the one the royalty had taken notice of or not, she wanted to be seen as polite, someone who adheres to the customs.

Mentions: Lekiel Lekiel Sybela Sybela
Interactions: AriAriAbabwa AriAriAbabwa . D O V E . D O V E

Note: The image was supposed to be my FC but with the new RPN Guideline that shall be left as a plain color for now ๐Ÿ’€
 
Gehainer'th Onlukouvric, Duke of the East

There was surprisingly little commotion and fanfare accompanying the newest arrivals, which was odd, considering how much they stood out from everyone else. Their number was , perhaps, alarming. There mustโ€™ve been at least four dozen men, all armed. To the last, they seemed like surly, hardy folk, definitely not fit for such a prestigious gathering. There also were no carriages or riders-everyone was marching, not quite in a military formation, but not exactly in a leisurely manner either. At the tail of this odd procession, animals could be seen, mules and goats loaded with baggage.


As the strange collection of men and animals came closer, more details could be made out in regards to them. The leading members of this strange band were dressed equally strangely, in furs and colors that did not match the brighter tones of the other assorted Maritrians. Each one had a golden coin hung around their neck, with what looked suspiciously like blood spattered on it. Some held banners aloft, that only the most learned or well-traveled would recognize, such as the weeping skull of the Bekaak, the murder of crows of the Yerenevei, The hanged man of the Jelekun, and, of course, the largest banner of them all-a mountain so tall it pierced the moon, and made it bleed silver. The symbol of the Onlukouvric.



The procession stopped some paces from the entrance to the grand hall, causing some small amount of unease amongst the guards. Most of the men stood motionless, at attention, while the bannermen each planted their load into the ground, causing yet more discomfort amongst the Maritrian guards, which was only further exacerbated as three of them drew pistols, with the fourth instead brandishing a strange box. As if to further add to the oddity of the spectacle, the Duke himself emerged , this odd vanguard parting to allow him to pass. His appearance was nothing short of outlandish. For one, his clothing was not the lavish attires so many of his peers preferred. Heavy, grey robes, well-made but clearly exposed to some degree of natural fury, padded with furs evidently meant for worse weather than the current one. Small golden coins, similar to the ones the retainers bore around their necks were sewn into the fabric all around the waist, the blood-like spatter visible on all of them. In other places, talismans and trinkets instead adorned the strange man, occult fetishes that only one similarly learned in the ways of the supernatural would understand the purpose of. He was also armed, and quite heavily, too-a carbine and a Bardiche hung from straps along his back, while the astonishing amount of four pistols could be found on a sash along his belt. An ornate dagger completed the set on his hip.


But perhaps the most odd part of this odd man was the headgear. It seemed to be a truly bizarre thing, not quite helmet, but not quite anything more elegant, either. The visor was plain, depicting a visage as implacable as the mountains it hailed from, with spire-like protrusions at the top, adding height to an already imposing figure.

With slow, calculated steps, taking care not to make one too many or too few and curse himself with bad luck, the strange man and his box-carrying companion entered the Hall, while the three pistol-bearing bodyguards remained by the threshold, as if repelled by some unseen barrier.

The crier seemed taken aback, evidently not prepared for the entry of this rarely seen noble. He stumbled over his words, trying to recall the identity of the newcomer. Just as he seemed finally ready to speak, there was one more interruption.

Three shots rang out in quick succession, drawing everyone's attention towards the entrance. The three pistol-wielding men had fired into the sky, choking what words tried to escape the mouth of the now thoroughly unnerved crier. Paying him no heed whatsoever, the tall man stepped forwards, towards the crown princess, with heavy, uncompromising steps.

"I am Gehainer'th Onlukouvric. Hetman and Duke of Rhuvyusin, Protector of the East, First amongst the Mountain Phratries and Herald of Sorrow!"

The voice was loud and booming, like thunder crashing on the hillside. His thick accent betrayed either unfamiliarity with the language or simply with the people, although very few currently present were perhaps in the mood for a jest at the man's expense.

He stopped in front of the princess, an odd remnant of times and places far and alien. To gaze upon him was to see a window into another world-a world of riddles and myths, of blood and battle, of hardship and perseverance.

He lowered his head in a deep bow, taking care not to accidentally jab the princess with his head ornament.

"Under the sight of those present physically, and bound by honor to those who observe from above, I request hospitality for me and my companions. I swear upon my blood and vigor, I have no ill-intent towards the Master of the House, and his family, and his guests, and all others whom they have extended courtesy to."

As if waiting for a cue, the follower quickly joined his leader, falling to his knees and offering the box to the royal. Should she or someone else see fit to open it, they would find it containing a not insubstantial amount of coin, as well as a pistol with an ornate, ivory grip, and a well-crafted talisman with golden engravings-a good luck charm to those that knew, a bauble to others.

"An offering of wealth is presented."
Said the follower, with an accent somehow even worse than the Duke's

"An offering of blood, is it demanded?" Echoed the Duke, raising his left arm, palm-up, while his right loosened the heavy glove, his head still low.


The entire procession remained completely transfixed, unmoving, all waiting for the answer of the princess.


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