Morris
A Hunter Must Hunt
It was Merrymaker's Day in the splendorous kingdom of Krustivan - and all denizens of the realm, human and non-human alike, knew what this meant. From the stretches of north to south, from west to east, all would parttake in merryment, as white ribbons adorned the houses and flower petals were cast by hundreds of hands across the streets. Praises were given in churches to patron deities and saints of fertility and love, and marriages were held on this very specific day, in hope of blessings of luck and long-lasting happyness.
Coincidentally, it was also the day of the royal family's wedding anniversary. The gleaming white towers and spires of the Trustvar castle - once a mighty stronghold, now a place of artistic pomp and grandeur - were bristling with fanfares and horn-blowers, as the esteemed members of the court and nobility indulged in feasting, gossiping and dancing in the ancestral halls, in exquisite (and accordingly, hellishly expensive) dresses and gowns. The guards themselves found it hard to stay stoic, with the music alluring people's feet to dance, and drinks being passed around for all to enjoy.
Such were the hallmarks of an era of peace and prosperity.
For three generations now, Krustivan has been ruled by the Trustvar family. Originally dukes under the previous dynasty, they have been elected to lead by other nobles almost a century ago, when the old royal dynasty, the Callouxfords, have been decreed deceased, for the last sovereign of their bloodline had passed without an heir. Civil war could very well had been the future of Krustivan, had the nobles not listened to better judgement. It was the Trustvars' sense of dimplomacy which brought them together, and make a compromise.
Now, their descendants could enjoy the fruits of this wise choice, and revel in luxury to their heart's content. They all seemed so happy...
...it was almost stomach-turningly disgusting.
At the very least, this was the thought which crossed the mind of Daquan Amsel, squire of the house of Vurdalak. He and his compatriots (that is, the patriarch of the house, his wife, and the squire himself) stood out in the host of guests like sore thumbs; albeit officially nobles themselves, they were distinguished in an unusual manner. They bore no heraldry, nor wear jewelry save for small talismans, nor garb themselves in fancyfully painted silky or velvet wear, preferring plain cotton and wool clothing, as well as wolf-skin cloaks, like they were survivalist wildmen of a now forlorn age. They had their reasons for it, naturally, rooted in their history. But that did not make them any less subjected to snide commentary, every time they made an appearence in the court's celebrations.
The current head of the house, Joel, and his beloved, Olette, have not paid much heed to this. They have long learned to let it past their ears. They were proud of what they stood for, and they knew the royal family likewise approved of them - why else would they be consistently on the guest list?
Daquan Amsel, however, was less than thrilled by the ongoing festivities. Not that he was against Merrymaker's Day itself - rather, he would have preferred to spend it somewhere else. Somewhere where he wouldn't be treated to mocking glances, whispered slander and belittling chukles. As much as he was excited to witness the interior of Krustivan's crown jewel with his own eyes for the first time, his awe was quick to turn into a sense of insignificance, and frustration. When he became a page as a young boy, even the humble aesthetics of the comparetively tiny Vurdalak castle seemed fable-like to him; in stark contrast, such extravagant pomp felt downright oppressive. And, just to add insult to injury, as it were, it had to be on a nation-wide holiday, when every single member of the upper classes, from gentry to dukes, would be flaunting their finest attires.
Last, but not least, amidst all the couples, families, friends and acquaintances... he was alone. Which was arguably what irked him the most. His lord and master, whom he respected deeply, told him to just relax and have fun. Too bad he didn't explain how, under these dire circumstances. None would approach or greet him, beside some servants adhering to the customs of their servitude. The guests would by far and large ignore him, and any and all attempts at establishing contact were quick to meet with a polite, but ultimately inevitable dismissal and excuses.
Therefore, for lack of better options, he condemned himself to standing by the sidelines of the ballroom, as if he was part of the guard, praying mutely in his mind that the hours fly by quickly so he can get away from this sugar-coated social hellhole.
Lilbutterfli94
Coincidentally, it was also the day of the royal family's wedding anniversary. The gleaming white towers and spires of the Trustvar castle - once a mighty stronghold, now a place of artistic pomp and grandeur - were bristling with fanfares and horn-blowers, as the esteemed members of the court and nobility indulged in feasting, gossiping and dancing in the ancestral halls, in exquisite (and accordingly, hellishly expensive) dresses and gowns. The guards themselves found it hard to stay stoic, with the music alluring people's feet to dance, and drinks being passed around for all to enjoy.
Such were the hallmarks of an era of peace and prosperity.
For three generations now, Krustivan has been ruled by the Trustvar family. Originally dukes under the previous dynasty, they have been elected to lead by other nobles almost a century ago, when the old royal dynasty, the Callouxfords, have been decreed deceased, for the last sovereign of their bloodline had passed without an heir. Civil war could very well had been the future of Krustivan, had the nobles not listened to better judgement. It was the Trustvars' sense of dimplomacy which brought them together, and make a compromise.
Now, their descendants could enjoy the fruits of this wise choice, and revel in luxury to their heart's content. They all seemed so happy...
...it was almost stomach-turningly disgusting.
At the very least, this was the thought which crossed the mind of Daquan Amsel, squire of the house of Vurdalak. He and his compatriots (that is, the patriarch of the house, his wife, and the squire himself) stood out in the host of guests like sore thumbs; albeit officially nobles themselves, they were distinguished in an unusual manner. They bore no heraldry, nor wear jewelry save for small talismans, nor garb themselves in fancyfully painted silky or velvet wear, preferring plain cotton and wool clothing, as well as wolf-skin cloaks, like they were survivalist wildmen of a now forlorn age. They had their reasons for it, naturally, rooted in their history. But that did not make them any less subjected to snide commentary, every time they made an appearence in the court's celebrations.
The current head of the house, Joel, and his beloved, Olette, have not paid much heed to this. They have long learned to let it past their ears. They were proud of what they stood for, and they knew the royal family likewise approved of them - why else would they be consistently on the guest list?
Daquan Amsel, however, was less than thrilled by the ongoing festivities. Not that he was against Merrymaker's Day itself - rather, he would have preferred to spend it somewhere else. Somewhere where he wouldn't be treated to mocking glances, whispered slander and belittling chukles. As much as he was excited to witness the interior of Krustivan's crown jewel with his own eyes for the first time, his awe was quick to turn into a sense of insignificance, and frustration. When he became a page as a young boy, even the humble aesthetics of the comparetively tiny Vurdalak castle seemed fable-like to him; in stark contrast, such extravagant pomp felt downright oppressive. And, just to add insult to injury, as it were, it had to be on a nation-wide holiday, when every single member of the upper classes, from gentry to dukes, would be flaunting their finest attires.
Last, but not least, amidst all the couples, families, friends and acquaintances... he was alone. Which was arguably what irked him the most. His lord and master, whom he respected deeply, told him to just relax and have fun. Too bad he didn't explain how, under these dire circumstances. None would approach or greet him, beside some servants adhering to the customs of their servitude. The guests would by far and large ignore him, and any and all attempts at establishing contact were quick to meet with a polite, but ultimately inevitable dismissal and excuses.
Therefore, for lack of better options, he condemned himself to standing by the sidelines of the ballroom, as if he was part of the guard, praying mutely in his mind that the hours fly by quickly so he can get away from this sugar-coated social hellhole.
Lilbutterfli94