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Post by Avery on Aug 13, 2014 21:39:10 GMT -5
((collab with Elcie!) A royal wedding brought nearly as much business for an innkeeper as a royal funeral. Ilsa hummed to herself cheerfully as she pinned her hair up. Most of her guests had left already, but a few still lingered. Fortunately, the new cook was reliable enough to look after the place while she was gone. She would have welcomed Xavier back had he wished to return, but... he was doing well where he was. Amazingly well, in fact. These days he was happier than she'd ever seen him when he still lived with her. (A large part of this, she suspected, was due to Elin Ryer, but Ilsa was not one to pry. Unless she was over at Clare's gossiping about the latest developments over drinks, of course.) She still saw Xavier too frequently to miss him too badly, and the inn kept her busy. As did her new hires. The cook was reliable, but that young man of hers... Ilsa shook her head as she headed down the stairs, pausing briefly to lean over and stroke Smoke when he rubbed up against her ankle. The fuzzy kitten was growing into a fine, sleek young cat, every bit the mouser that Orrin had promised. Ilsa ducked into the kitchen. "Lydia, I'm about to leave for the wedding. Do you have everything you need?" The woman hovering over the hearth to adjust a roasting chicken turned to face the innkeeper. Though her hair was as bright as ever, little else about Lydia resembled the woman who’d been captured by slave hunters in Corvus nine months ago. She’d put on a good twenty pounds of badly needed weight, and bruises no longer marred her face. She no longer frantically cast her eyes to the ground beneath when she was spoken to. Part of that was just a matter of her stubborn will—she’d meant her words to Amelie that day in southern Kyth, about how she’d always known she wouldn’t die a slave. But Kelcey definitely had a role in her newfound vigor and confidence, too. He was far too chipper and optimistic to stay dour around for very long. He had so much he could complain about: he’d had his head chopped off by a foreign king, he’d arrived home to find his sister a shattered mess and his former lover murdered by the same king who’d murdered him, and he was stuck forevermore as a ghost. But Kelcey took it all in stride. He didn’t whine or lament his fate, and that innate cheer in him was infectious. He was the reason she’d gotten the job at the inn, too, as Ilsa’s new cook. Lydia had trouble following the whole story—the long, tangled web of relationships—but somehow they were “old, great pals” (according to Kelcey), through Kelcey’s friend Elin, who was romantically entangled with the old cook, who— Well. Lydia had stopped trying to follow it a long time ago, because it just made her head hurt. All she knew was that within a few months of coming to Medieville, she and Kelcey had gone from slumming in his humble home with his sisters—all of whom regarded the ghost version of their brother with equal parts incredulity and amusement—to working, and living, at the inn, where Lydia manned the kitchen and Kelcey… … haunted the place. This Lydia also didn’t try to understand completely, because it struck her as absurd, but even nine months on, Ilsa was quite pleased with the arrangement. Apparently you could make an extra scroll per room per night if your inn provided an attraction in addition to a bed. And Kelcey was positively thrilled to be that attraction… even if sometimes he still got confused and ended up trawling Ilsa’s chambers instead of a paying guest’s. And even if it had taken him a month of garnished wages to pay the innkeeper back for some old-but-not-forgotten debt to Ilsa that Lydia also had no desire to puzzle through. Now, on the day Hope’s wedding, Lydia smiled at Ilsa. “Yep, should be all set,” she said. From where Kelcey was hovering near the kitchen ceiling, ogling with a child-like wonderment at a spider’s web, he brightly announced to Ilsa, “And we’ll remember to charge double price for the special Wedding Ale that’s actually just regular ale but they won’t know, which makes it even more fun—” “Shush, Kelcey,” Lydia sighed. Then, to Ilsa: “You’ll have to tell us all about it when you get back. And if you see Lord Xavier there… tell him we said ‘hi’.” Xavier had been a lot of help to Lydia in those first few months, as she’d adjusted to life as a free citizen—a role that she’d not held since she was but a child. Ilsa chuckled. "I will," she said. "I'll use those exact words, too, just to embarrass him. He still hasn't gotten used to people using his title." Truth be told, Ilsa hadn't really gotten used to that either - however well Xavier wore his green finery, he was still her former cook. She could remember how skittish and scared he'd been when he first arrived. Now, though, she had to admit that he looked the part of a nobleman. She was proud of him. And the title was a surefire way to tease him. She glanced up in Kelcey's direction. "And Kelcey, it's the inn you're haunting, all right? Not the dairy. Definitely not the stables. People pay more for spooky inns, they don't pay more for spooked horses." And the hostler was going to kill her if one more ghost-spooked kicked him out of fright. Kelcey nodded solemnly—then floated down and stage whispered into Lydia’s ear: “But the horses are the best to haunt, they’re so easily frightened! Tons easier than the humans…” Lydia couldn’t help but quirk a grin. Carefully—in the way the two of them had slowly perfected over the past nine months—she hooked a hand over his arm, and he drifted down into what could pass as a standing position. “I won’t let him out of my sight,” Lydia promised Ilsa. As the innkeeper gave one last dubious glance at the ghost of Kelcey Kidde, then turned to leave, the cook called out after her: “Wait! I um—was thinking a little more. When you see Lord Xavier, can you tell him more than ‘hi’? I was just… hoping to have a talk with him soon, if he’s not too busy. About um…” Lydia’s eyes drifted automatically down at her collarbone—presently concealed beneath a collared dress, as it always was, in case a Courdonian should find their way to the inn—where beneath the fabric, twin brands from each of her former masters still marked her skin. “… things,” she finished. “About some things.” Ilsa turned back to look at Lydia, one eyebrow slightly raised in surprise, and nodded. "I'll tell him," she said. What Lydia wanted, she didn't know, but she wouldn't pry - not on this. Xavier understood what Lydia had been through better than Ilsa or anyone else possibly could. "Maybe I'll bring him by tonight," she added. "It's been a while, he owes me a visit." With that, she waved, and turned to go again. "Don't burn the place down," she said. "And for 'Woo's sake don't take that as a challenge, Kelcey!" Ilsa prepares to leave for the wedding-- leaving the inn in the good hands of Lydia, who's now a cook there... and the not-as-good hands of Kelcey, who now haunts the place as part of a racket. Happy endings for all! \o/
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Post by icon on Aug 13, 2014 23:47:36 GMT -5
Three Weeks Prior...Dear M. Penstrokes,
On behalf of the Kythian Poets and Playwrights Society, we wish to congratulate you on your successful submission of "Red the Raven's Wings: The Bloody Coronation" to our Medieville Playhouse. After minor debate, we reached a unanimous agreement to include it within our next anthology, which will be officially recorded in the Raven's Keep Historical Archives this upcoming Spring.
Some comments from our panel of critics:
"An Epic Poem to last the ages... well done."
"Masterful use of meter and rhyme."
"Vivid, lifelike detail... almost as if you were at the Coronation yourself."
Incidentally, the Raven's Keep has graciously bestowed upon us the opportunity to recite several of the poems from our anthology at the upcoming royal wedding between Princess Hope Crane Ascension and Lord Joffery Jade. Your presence at the ceremony would certainly lend us credibility as an institution. Write to us at once if you are able to attend the event three weeks hence.
Eagerly awaiting your response,
The Kythian Poets and Playwrights Society** And Two Weeks After That...There was a knock at the door. Slowly, Aines turned around, blinking his eyes, then unfurled his wings, stretching them out to prepare for the arrival. "Come in." The door opened slowly, and Aines heard footsteps enter, making their way across the polished floor to his desk-perch. "Good afternoon, sir." "Ah, Winsbury," he said with a smile, facing the man. "I do take it you have had an enjoyable day thus far?" "Hectic, with the wedding preparations, but of course you've seen all that going on," the hasty reply came. "I did get those reports from Kine that you asked for, and I'll be forwarding them to the King and all of his advisors shortly." "That will do, thank you." Aines paced contentedly across his perch, catching a bit more sunlight from the windowpanes. "Must be a bit of a relief, knowing that he'll be in good hands with all those advisors now, hmmm? Especially with your current state." Aines cracked one eye open, swiveling to look at the Heraldic Overseer. "The news has made it out that quickly, then?" "With respect to Princess Hope and Lord Joffery, it would be the talk of the Keep were it not for their wedding. You've been advising the monarchs of Kyth for generations, now. For you to retire so suddenly? Giving up that power so quickly? Nine months of advising is still a rather short time for his new aids to settle in." "Ambrose Stallion has proven himself to be a respectable noble with much insight to offer to the kingdom's success, and the Shadow Council of Peasant Affairs will make sure that everyone in Kyth receives the opportunity to have their voice heard." "I still think that's a bit of a ridiculous name for a bunch of peasants with a bit of political sway" Winsbury commented, "but if you think they'll work for Kyth, so be it." "Indeed," Aines said. "As of two hours ago, dear Winsbury, I am officially retired." "In that case I suppose I ought to give these documents to Master Stallion, then..." Aines cracked an eye open. "Of course, concerned citizen as I am, I'm not averse to being aware of the country's politics." He hopped over to Winsbury. "What news have you received?" "Well, there was the need for improving infrastructure along the Ashroad, and those particular issues with the River Macarinth's Spring flooding. Then there was that whole issue with the barges requesting we carve a new canal through the mountains, particularly Ascension Peak--" "They wanted to carve through Ascension Peak?" This got Aines up. "No, clearly if you're going to make a new path through Rindfell you want to avoid as much damage as possible, the structural abilities of the mountains are highly volatile to weather patterns, and meltwater in the Spring is never consistent, that will completely wreck any chances of canals. You don't want to carve through the Peak, you want to go around the mountains and into the bay up the river, and then hug the coast-- but then there's that coastline issue, isn't it? And it runs the risk of trade routes to Dormor being slowed, doesn't it-- do you have a map on you by any chance? Thank you, Winsbury. Oh, and you might want to send for Galateo and the rest, this could take a while. Now, about that barge path..." Retired, my foot, Winsbury thought as Aines began another monologue about weather patterns and diplomacy. But he didn't say it out loud. You never knew what kind of sway a bird could hold over your paycheck. Once upon a happier ending Stood a kingdom, still ascending Climbing up a path contending, slowly rising to the fore; Picture now, that same advisor (Somewhat older, somewhat wiser) Thinking that he might retire, sir? Is that truly what's in store? Quoth the raven: "Either or." Actual summary for those who don't want to deal with my Poe antics:
Millian wrote a poem about the Coronation, apparently it got rave reviews? Way to go, AU-Shakespear.
Aines may-or-may-not have retired, now that Aldrich is king with his new advisory board settled in (which includes Ambrose Stallion, along with a council of Shadows to oversee Peasant Affairs). All is well!
Or, as well as it can be.
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Post by Gelquie on Aug 14, 2014 2:15:39 GMT -5
<Two days after the coronation>Clare chose to close shop early that day. Part of it was due to the fact that it was doubtful that many people would want to buy meat after what had happened with Destiney. But for the most part, she wanted to have a chance to take care of her niece... And to talk to her. Elin had improved over the last two days. She still suffered from headaches, pain, and exhaustion through her body, but she was well enough to move around, although Clare couldn't help but wonder whether she really was well enough to start moving around or whether Elin was just being stubborn. But it was a far cry from before, where Clare pretty much had to carry Elin home from the Keep. And in any case, Elin still made sure to sit down frequently wherever she went. Some time after they had finished dinner, there was an awkward silence between them. They sat on opposite sides of a table, with Elin flipping through the book she had and tracing her finger over some of the markings. Clare didn't even know she had it before yesterday. Sure, she caught glimpses of it, but she didn't assume it was anything too important. Clare was utterly confused by the contents, but the only thing she could conclude was that the book had something to do with the Shadows. After a moment, Elin's finger froze over the page. Then she sighed, shut the book, and looked up at Clare. “Just tell me what you're thinking, Auntie,” she said, a tone of defeat in her voice. Clare was silent for a moment, then she looked up. “...I looked for you for so long...” she started. “After you disappeared with only a vague note telling me what happened. I worried so much for you, and that was terrible enough, but... When I was looking for you, I heard rumors. And the rumors... Well, they made sense. And... Just... Tell me what really happened.” Elin looked down at the table fiddling unconsciously with one of the ends of her bracelet. She knew this conversation would happen. There was a pang in her heart, not from her symptoms but from distress. This was a conversation she was not ready to have. ...But Clare deserved to know. “...Were they rumors that I'm a Shadow?” Elin asked. Clare only gave a look that confirmed Elin's suspicion. She let out a sigh. “They're... They're true. I'm a Shadow. And the night of the Feast... House Jade found out.” Elin decided to leave out the part about Xavier. She knew he might not have done it if he hadn't felt so coerced at the time, and he had already apologized too many times for that. “They sent me to prison. The other Shadows helped me escape a few days later, but... But then I was on the run. And if I came home, and they interrogated you... I couldn't do that to you.” Clare folded her hands on the table. “I did hear those rumors, but not why... You know, I wouldn't have told anyone if you told me more. I didn't have much to go on, Elin.” “I couldn't risk it,” Elin said quietly. “I know... But I still can't help but wish you did,” Clare said. Then she looked over to a flower on the table, one that was beginning to droop. “The flowers... That was you, wasn't it?” Elin nodded. “I wanted to somehow tell you I was alive... That was the only way I could do it safely.” Clare smiled. “Thank you.” Another awkward silence hung over them before Clare spoke again. “...The Shadows were involved in getting the true king on the throne, right? Those are the rumors I'm hearing.” “Yes,” Elin said. “I suppose that's a good thing then,” Clare said. “After all this time, and his poor mother... It's a good thing your group found him when you did. How did you find him anyway?” Elin nodded. “Arthur helped find him, back when I was taking him home after a Shadows meeting.” “...You didn't form the Shadows after you found Galateo?” Elin paused. “...No. We... We only found him a week or so ago.” “...Then what were the Shadows doing before then?” Elin didn't answer. “Elin... how long ago did you join the Shadows?” Elin froze. Here was the part dreaded talking about the most to Clare. Perhaps it was because she knew what would happen next in the conversation, where it would go... and she began to feel her heart ache even more from it. “...Auntie, I... I didn't join them...” Elin looked to the ground. “I helped create them.” “... Elin.” “Well, I-I had to. The nobles were being completely unfair to us. To you too! They'd always been. I... I just didn't realize it until... Until...” Clare thought back, remembering yesterday, when Miller entered the infirmary, and Elin scowled and looked away. She remembered the times before, when she made slight jabs whenever a noble made an order. And the times when she complained about Miller, and when she complained about... ...And it dawned on her. “...Elin...” Clare started. “The Shadows formed two years ago, didn't they?” “More or less.” “After you came to town.” “...Yes. ...A few months after I came to town.” “...Was this because of Miller?” Elin froze, a lump in her throat. Here it was... The conversation she didn't want to have... The conversation she stopped having less than three years ago. The one that was too painful to continue. The one she told herself to stop crying about; to merely focus on what was going on. Elin's muscles tensed, and she didn't respond. “...Elin.” No response. “...Elin, I'm here. I'll listen if you want to talk. I've told you, you can talk to me about it. I don't know why you stopped so suddenly some time after you came here... Did you stop because of the Shadows?” “ Yes,” Elin said, firmly and suddenly, standing up. “Yes, I did, because I figured out what to do about it. I knew how to get back at that murderer!” “Elin, the Famine--” “It wasn't just the Famine, it was how he handled it! We were starving, Auntie, I went with my dad to his doorstep and he took one look at us and refused to help us! Wanted to take our food and didn't care a-a-and he left us to die!” Clare had stopped talking, and had her full attention on Elin, who was looking more and more distraught as she spoke, tears starting to come from her eyes as she paced the floor. “H-he left us, he wouldn't help us, and we had to search for what little food we could get, and it wasn't enough, it wasn't enough, and Ciro...” Elin paused, her face scrunching up. And then, with a firm but shaky voice, she spoke again. “...I-I saw him, that day. It was too hot out. But h-he went out to the well, wanted to draw up water, even though he was too weak. He looked at me, begging for water, a-and then he collapsed, and then...” The tears were flowing freely now. Clare stood up and walked closer as Elin continued. “W-we tried so hard Auntie. B-but he never woke up for long. Didn't have enough food, couldn't... couldn't... I-I tried to save him. I had to. Not just because I'm his older sister. B-but I couldn't... I couldn't... watch... But I...” Elin put a hand to her face, trying in vain to stop the tears. Clare put a hand to Elin's shoulder, and Elin buried her face into Clare. “I had to watch him die... And there was nothing I could do. They left us to die, and... A-and he did die...” Clare didn't say anything. She knew this story already. She had been told as much about it in the letter her brother sent her, the one she got shortly before Elin was sent to Medieville, before any other member of the Ryer family could be claimed by death. And she knew parts of the story from what little she could get out of Elin when she first arrived. Elin was clearly still in mourning, but she never... talked about it much. And always stopped herself before she could cry too much. Clare wondered if Elin had ideas about starting a rebellion the moment she left her home in Kine... But that was a question she could ask later. She wasn't going to lament the fact that this was the first time that Elin really talked about this. Instead, she held Elin in a hug and let her cry. And for a long time, Elin was inconsolable. Finally though, she took a shuddering breath and looked up, her eyes red and her face ruined with tears. “That's... That's why I started the Shadows... I knew I couldn't be the only one... I knew Ciro couldn't have been the only one... And he wasn't. A-and not just b-because of the Famine. B-because Kelcey too... He got wrapped up with the nobles of Courdon and d- died for it...” This news shocked Clare; she had heard rumors about the Kiddes floating around, but the Kiddes... The rumors about Kelcey... She had dearly hoped that wasn't true... The poor lad... He was a complete and total fool... But he didn't deserve to die. Neither did Ciro. “Ah, not Kelcey,” Clare said, whispered. “He was a good kid... An idiot... But a good kid.” Elin sobbed. “I-I still don't know what to do about that. Sure, we've helped claim the throne, but Miller... And King Malik...” Clare clutched Elin tighter. “Elin... Malik is dead, remember? Took the poor princess down with him, but he's dead... He won't hurt anyone else.” Clare tried to look into Elin's eyes. “As for Miller... You've helped with that. You took a bad thing, you used it... And you helped put the rightful king on the throne. Maybe then, he can help with these things.” Elin sniffed. “When we found Aldrich... That was one idea. To make sure it never happens again. But when he claimed the throne, when Maia accepted him... I thought I'd be happier.” “You also fainted; that can't have helped. But you looked pretty happy with Xavier.” “I meant with the Shadows, what we did... And I am happy for what we did. I'm glad we were able to help Aldrich, and anyone else affected. ...And then I saw Miller again... And I was reminded of Ciro all over again. Miller never changed... I-I guess I just wanted more done to him...” “Well Elin,” Clare said. “Galateo was only just announced. When he does take the throne, what do you really want him to do with Miller?” Elin was silent, with the exception of the occasional sob. She looked at Clare... And Clare realized what she was thinking. “Elin...” Clare said. “Far as I'm concerned, you did get revenge. You took that tragedy and now you're making the entire system change right on top of him, and it'll hit him hard on the head, I know it. And you'll help more with that, I'm sure. You don't need to do too much to him. Not if you really want to help those who need it.” Clare gripped Elin tighter. In truth, Clare didn't know exactly what to do; she was used to avoiding politics when it came to her door. But now it was in her house, begging for help... She searched her brain for an idea until she got one. “I know you; if something bad comes up, I know you won't let it go. And you can help with them. And you have Galateo on the throne. Talk to him. Tell him about Miller. Tell him when others are suffering. You helped him; he should listen to you.” Elin leaned against Clare. Once again, she remembered the battlefield. The battle that occurred, the dead around her, the dead eyes, just like Ciro... And she remembered Duval. She remembered, she held him down, encouraged Xavier to kill him, and... He didn't. Duval survived... And yet Xavier got his revenge anyway. Showed him where power really came from. All while not having to stain his hands... And not watching someone else die... And maybe, just maybe, some of the slaves back in Talvace would see the sight of their slavemaster in chains. Maybe that would be enough to start something... And the Shadows helped her see... There were other ways to get what she wanted. What she really wanted... And what Kyth really needed... Elin shuddered, her tears beginning to fall at a slower pace. She brought up a hand began to try to wipe them away. “M-maybe...” she said finally. “We made it this far... Even with the other Houses and Courdon... I just wish there wasn't...” “...Don't think too much on the past, Elin,” Clare said. “Remember it, use it to carve a better future. But don't let it destroy you.” Elin sighed as she leaned against Auntie. Not letting it destroy her... She kind of had before. At the very least by not talking about it. And thought her actions had brought wonderful things... She was starting to realize that maybe this was a talk she should have had years ago... A talk she should have had the moment she first stepped onto Clare Ryer's doorstep. Before she got involved, before she met everyone, before she helped start the Shadows... Before she met Xavier... She should tell him too, she realized. He seemed to eventually accept that he was a Shadow, but for things to go this far, and for him not to know why she got involved... He deserved to know too. And he'd understand, she was sure of it. He had lost someone too... And the Shadows... Elin wiped her eyes again. “I don't regret being with the Shadows, Auntie,” she said. “I think... I think we really did carve a brighter future. And... And I'll make sure it stays that way.” As Elin spoke those last words, she tried backing away slightly so she could put her hands on Clare's shoulders. But she quickly found out that the strength she was trying to convey was... Not so strong. She suddenly felt exhausted and drained. She looked at the ground and blinked a few times. “For now, I... I think I'm going to bed,” she said simply. Clare nodded. “I still need to give you the potion,” she said. “Okay; go get it,” she said. And with that, she turned and walked towards her bedroom. One dosage and one peck on the forehead later, Elin was curled beneath her blanket, feeling her muscles unknit once again. But she found that wasn't the only thing unknitting. In spite of the throbbing pain in her head that had only increased with the tears and the sobbing, she found that her chest felt... Better. Lighter. Free-er. As if an enormous weight on her heart had finally been removed. She would never get Ciro back. And no one could return from the grave. And she'd never forgive Miller for that. But so much good had happened too. Perhaps... She could make the best of it. She had already started. With the Shadows, what they had done for Kyth... Xavier... Good things had happened too. And with that thought in mind, she drifted off to sleep. Elin is a vampire that lacks empathy and uses others for her own personal gain. Clare finds out, so Elin kills her and drinks her blood. Surprise!
...No, not really. But if you must know, Elin and Clare have a heart-to-heart talk. Elin's backstory is revealed, showing why Elin helped start the Shadows in the first place.
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Post by Coaster on Aug 14, 2014 6:32:25 GMT -5
Alas, the show was not to go on after all, and as it turned out, people were violently tired of the wanton destruction act by the time the battle came to a close. At the behest of his family, Marson was forced to lay down the plates--gently--and pick up regular music again. The alas was doubled when, at the announcement of his proposal, they were informed that Joffery opted to sing his own serenade to his bride at the coming wedding rather than allowing the Marsons to perform one of their spectacles (although they could flash-mob all they wanted at the reception--they'd insisted at least that much). Accordingly, Jenna and Rick and Endre and Stu and Baron Marson and the Missus and the other servants rehearsed a romantic, yet vibrant composition (after all, how else would Hope know that Joffery loved her, that he really, really cared about her?). Or at least, most of the other servants were rehearsing--Phil had been as up-and-down as usual in his performance and took a voluntary sabbatical of sorts, attending to the regular Manor duties (which tended to be the "up" portions for him), particularly scribely tasks, while most of his family frolicked around the halls with very-thoroughly-fed-up musical accompaniment chasing after them. On one of so such nights, a small, bound, rolled-up note appeared by the main entrance and was hastily swept up by this same Phil N. Marson, who would have recognized that handwriting anywhere but figured he never would have seen it again, the handwriting of that purple elf lady who'd eaten so much of their meat and otherwise never showed up and, come to think of it, hadn't shown herself for the past nine months or so, after leaving silently and in a hurry one day--barely the day after the coronation, if memory served, and Phil's chances of memory serving were better than that of most of the other servants' memories serving, regardless. Even at first when the Jade entourage was still staying at the Manor, Lord Everett seemed too preoccupied with his lordly tasks to pay much attention to recruits of nary a week leaving; Archmage Leif had had his mind on something else entirely and seemed to get flustered when pressed about it; in fact, Phil reasoned, it seemed that the rest of the official House had hardly met this lady at all, so in hindsight, it didn't leave very many waves when she left. Except this was nine months later, and suddenly she expected to be along for the ride with them again. Or else--maybe she was going to be there anyways? The wording was somewhat ambiguous. Anyways, there wasn't exactly an imposed limit on the number of guests that could come, given that the new King was raised a peasant, and the groom was a Jade himself, so basically anyone with nominal ties to the House could come if they wanted to--and quite a few people were still skeptical of royal events after Courdon crashed the last one, though that still wouldn't deter a lot of them from free food. He threw up his hands, left the note on the official desk, dismissed it as some lingering eccentricity, and checked on the preparations for the wedding reception. At least this letter explained the wildcat that showed up the other day and seemed to be getting along so friendly with the staff. Turns out, that cub she had was from a bigger pedigree than they'd thought. *** All things considered, it was still the first event of royal significance to take place since the debacle nine months ago, and if there was any time to come back and confirm that things were running smoothly, it was now. She could almost say she'd given up trying to make a difference in this foreign place, except that she'd never managed it in the first place, nor was that the reason she'd come. There were still the same memories as before--wandering through the inhospitable country to the south, finding a potential lead with Pipp of the Northlands, ultimately witnessing his betrayal, and the face he hired that'd come to haunt her, and watching the murderer skitter off like a half-stomped cockroach while her... team? Her family... The only small grace was that literacy was prized in this time enough for her to earn enough of an income to survive, and with some care, she'd couriered herself to Corvus without being caught unawares by any would-be slavers. And before long, having made a few passing acquaintances along the way, she'd no sooner come to the capital of Kyth than this bubbly tailor girl ran into her and formed the friendship that would keep her going for the next couple months. And then the time-traveler, and the funeral, the attack, the feast, the festival, the coronation... two hectic weeks, and whatever reason she had to remain in Kyth was gone again. Even the little things. Ignotus had been ignobly released from Stallion service after some sort of treachery; the men Kaldora showed some interest in getting to know were enthralled with each other instead; the Stallion seer had no reason to hold ties with her after coming to his own conclusions about his condition; that wretched Magerage hadn't shown a whisker since things spiraled down again... So why was she here? She stood and applauded with the rest of the audience as the vows were made, feeling quite out-of-place despite being suitably opulently dressed for the occasion--in a silver-trimmed purple gown not unlike the one she used to favour, though given what it represented, it pained her almost as much to wear it as it would have to be back at Raven's Keep without it. As the audience was dismissed for the reception--and one of the Jade servants was giving her strange looks, presumably for muttering to herself as she often did--she tried to remember as much of the good as she could, short as it was. Maybe, by some miracle, her chance to move on would last a little longer this time. *** Not long after the humiliating defeat at the Kythians' coronation, word came to the relatively peaceful Courdonian township of Althry of the events that had conspired. Had it been a couple months prior, this news would have been delivered to the entire remaining Gulbrand family. Not of their son Ancel's death, mind you--what would have been his corpse turned out to be an unrecognizable heap of ashes scattered throughout a pile of discarded weapons. In the most concentrated section of the heap, the flames smoldered long after they should have gone out; it was presumed that an enchanted sword the knights found planted in it was the cause, and the sword was put into the castle treasury, and the ashes discarded like all the other remnants of the battle. But, of course, all Bernard Gulbrand and his wife were made aware of was that there was a battle. To them, their younger son was still gallivanting about on his zealot business, and their door would still be open for him if he ever decided to pay them a visit. However, their elder son, Gunder, had grown tired of the political conditions in Courdon; seeking to ply a more peaceful merchant's trade, he had left for Kyth a couple months prior, passing through Elacs (and meeting a lovely wife along the way), bypassing Medieville to cross Veresia, and finally settling down by a secluded cove by the sea in Albion. The first winter was harsh, but not particularly much worse than back in Althry, which was a fairly cold climate as far as Courdon went. The couple made their home there, and since they seemed to turn a profit whenever they came to the city, eventually some of the townspeople decided they'd tag along to see if that luck wouldn't rub off on them sooner or later. So the settlement on the cove gradually grew into a township, and when it was time to settle down entirely, Gunder soon sired a son of his own. Gunder Gunderson. Now that's a way to start a legacy. a.k.a. Coaster's running out of character ideas and posts at 4:30am, woooooo
The Marsons are back to their usual antics (with Phil taking an official position as the only sane man), and while most of them prepare their flash mob numbers for the reception, Phil finds a note by Kaldora and wonders why she's suddenly coming back, considering that after the coronation, she dismissed herself quietly and wasn't missed all that much.
Big surprise, Kaldora's been depressed and shows up at the wedding even though she isn't really into it. She gives a bit of an internal recap before heading to the reception, in case anyone's using this round to do a 9-months-later post.
Ancel's long been wiped off the map, so we chronicle his brother Gunder's journey up to Albion where he helps form a town and starts the Gunderson clan.
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Post by Layla "Nimbus" Karimi on Aug 14, 2014 15:49:24 GMT -5
"All right, everyone, pack up! We're closing early today for the wedding." Clarissa grinned as she walked through the smithy, helping her apprentices put away the tools and douse the forges. Her smithy was noticeably smaller and her apprentices fewer in number than Rusty's -- with her time split between this and the Shadow Council, she found she couldn't maintain anything bigger. But she wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world. It had only been a month after Aldrich's (erm, Galeteo's) coronation when Clarissa had completed her masterpiece. She couldn't shake the feeling that this was no coincidence -- that the leaders of the blacksmith's guild had declared her a master simply because of her connections to the new king. This thought had bothered her endlessly at first, but in the end she had taken it as a challenge. If her work hadn't truly earned her the title before, she would simply have to make every new piece her best, and keep improving until it did. Once the smithy had been taken care of, Clarissa retired to her room and changed from her regular work outfit into the ebony-and-violet robes of the Shadow Council of Peasant Affairs. As she reached for the wedding invitation on her desk, her fingers brushed over the calculator Tony had given her as payment all those months ago. Clarissa paused for a moment, allowing herself a thoughtful smile. It felt as though ages, not mere months, had passed since the day the metal carriage had first appeared. "You're missing him again, aren't you?" Clarissa turned to see Ginger settled on a perch by her bed, a small metal clasp secured to a few of the feathers at her throat. "You should ask Steve how he's doing," the kestral went on, giving the blacksmith a knowing look. "If anyone can find out, it's that batty mage." Clarissa rolled her eyes and smirked. "I never should have given you that charm, you know that?" she teased. Ginger scoffed and rubbed at the clasp with a wing. In truth, that charm had been one of Clarissa's proudest creations. Once she had joined the Shadow Council and begun spending more time at the Keep, she had noticed a few unusually humanlike behaviors and vocalizations coming from Ginger and other birds of the mews. Translating them had almost instantly become a new project for her. It had taken a lot of work and a little help from Ascension and Jade mages, but in the end she had managed to fashion a charm that let Ginger's cries be heard as words in the Kythian tongue. The intelligence that the kestral exhibited once they could understand her had surprised most members of the Keep, and they were now in the process of recreating the charms for the other birds in the mews and finding ways to keep the brilliant raptors better entertained in between hunts. For her part, though, Ginger had opted to leave the place that had never found much use for her and remain with Clarissa instead. "You know," the blacksmith ventured thoughtfully, "I don't believe animals need an invitation to go to the wedding. You should come with me." Ginger cocked her head. "And why do I need to do that? No offence, but these are more your friends than mine, and Standorf and Waller can be a little..." "There's a rumor going around that Aines is retiring. Knowing him I'm not sure how long that will last, but it might mean he's finally open to settling down a bit and maybe finding himself a lady frie-" Ginger was already out the window. After a few moments, she reappeared on the sill. "Well, what are you waiting for? We've got a royal wedding to attend!" Clarissa laughed and shook her head as she grabbed her invitation and headed for the door. In spite of all that had happened, it seemed some things would never change. The last nine months have been busy for Clarissa! She's since become a master blacksmith and started up her own smithy, joined the Shadow Council (more on how that works later) and made a trinket that lets people understand what the heck Ginger is saying. She and Ginger get ready and head off for the wedding, where the latter plans to try wooing icon again. Anyone who wants to, feel free to run into Clarissa and Ginger while they're on their way to/at the wedding. I don't have any current plans until after they get there anyway X3
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Post by Celestial on Aug 14, 2014 16:05:05 GMT -5
One month ago, not too far north from Destrier...Alain gestured for the coachman to stop and pulled his own horse to a halt. He had not been quite sure of the information he had received, since eyewitness accounts from a relation were spotty at best, but it seemed to match up with the records that had been kept in this area. There had been a forest felled here when he had been eight years old and a local had reported that his father had found a strange tree perched on a rock when they had dug into said forest. When he had the time, he had travelled up here himself to investigate. He thought it would have been a wild goose chase, looking for something that had been long destroyed and replaced with cultivated land. But no. The place acted like a magnet for him, drawing him in towards this exact spot. In hindsight, it was not surprising. He did have a fraction of Cebeline’s powers in him; of course he would feel compelled to come here, to her former shrine. And his power was just a small part of what Ambrose had. He wondered how his brother would react. “We’re here,” he said, looking over the fields. They were mostly empty, since it was currently the beginning of spring, but in the distance further out grazed a few animals. Frost clung to the ground and the air was cold and still. The scent of an ironworks hung over the hills, no doubt what the wood of the forest that stood here was used to fuel. Combined with the knowledge of what it used to be and what it was, it was almost eerie. The carriage door opened and Ambrose stepped out, taking in the same sight. As he did, Alain took the chance to regard his little brother again. He had to confess, despite his faith, he had been a little worried about leaving him behind in Medieville. But seeing him again when he had come up to Destrier, he realised all that worry had been for naught. At first glance, Ambrose did not look like he had changed much. The only obvious differences were that his hair was more evenly cut and he wore the colours of House Ascension now, though the red cloak and the Stallion pin had stayed exactly the same. However, he stood tall and proud, with more confidence than Alain had ever seen his brother have before. While his face was worn with the weight of all the things he had seen, his eyes were bright and completely clear. The doubt and fear that had plagued him all his life had receded. If Ambrose had accepted his visions before, now, it seemed like he had found a way to go on, even start to thrive, despite them. And Alain could not be happier for him. The decision to offer him to King Galateo had been a good one. “How does it feel?” he asked. Ambrose blinked as though he had suddenly snapped out of a vision and turned to Alain. “This is the right place, no doubt about it,” he stepped out of the carriage and carefully onto the muddy ground. Closing his eyes, it felt exactly like the dreams that he kept having, of walking through the forest. Just like in them, without even thinking about his actions, he stepped forward and out into the field. Alain got off his horse and followed his brother, wondering exactly where he would stop. Ambrose stopped suddenly and looked down. A stone jutted out of the mud and he kneeled down, brushing aside some of the moss to reveal a worn symbol: a snowflake. His heart clenched as he straightened up and turned his head, looking for other signs of Cebeline’s shrine. But aside from the snowflake stone, there was nothing. The other standing stones, even the big boulder...all gone. Probably cut up to make buildings or otherwise removed. To say nothing of the tree, which had no doubt gone to warm some peasant’s cottage that night over forty-seven years ago. He sighed. At this point, the gesture seemed like a meaningless one but he wanted to do it anyway. Relying on what he remembered of the shrine from his dreams, Ambrose stepped up to where the large offering stone had been and took out a pouch from his pocket, emptying it out onto the ground. Wheat, oats and barley fell out of it, as well as some dried berries. They lay still in the mud, dirt already gathering on them. “Not much point in that gesture, Ambrose,” Alain said coolly behind him. “She has been dead for almost half a century, she won’t appreciate it.” “It still did not feel right, visiting a god empty-handed. Especially one our House killed,” Ambrose replied and stepped away from the small pile. “Yet she brought so much suffering and sorrow into your life,” Alain gave him a sideways glance. “I would have thought you would be even a little angry or saddened.” “So did I. But I can’t find it in my heart to be angry at her,” Ambrose shook his head. “Even though she caused you to see all those things? Even though almost drove you mad?” Alain raised an eyebrow. “You should know better than that, Alain, that I’m not one to hate, especially not after so long,” Ambrose turned to him and smiled. “She caused me to see good things too. And, while she did almost drive me mad...she didn’t. You stopped me from going completely mad.” To Ambrose’s surprise, Alain did not smirk at him or even smile back. Instead, he leaned on his cane and turned away to study the sky intensely. “Only because I was the only one who knew what had happened. And because, for a long time, I felt guilty over what happened to you, over what was happening to you. It hurt, to see you be destroyed like that,” Alain said, his voice remaining calm and steady despite what he was saying. “But I do want to know this: you once told me you envied me but did you ever blame me? Or hate me for not sharing your curse?” Ambrose stared at his brother, trying to gather the words in his head to reply. Alain was strong, one of the strongest people he knew. But he had known him for a long time. Ambrose could read beyond his words, even beyond his tone, into the deeper meaning. He had never thought about the effect of his suffering on his brother. It never occurred to him how much it had to hurt. “I did hate you, sometimes, when it got bad. I wished it had been you and not me who was plagued by these visions. However, that was a long time ago, before I learned to cope, before I figured out how to use these visions to help those around me,” Ambrose smiled and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “But even then, you were always the one trying to help me, who listened to me when other people did not. If it had not been for you, I really would have become as mad as people said I was. So no, I never blamed you. More than anything, I am grateful to you, for saving my life in more ways than one.” Alain turned back to look at him. There was not much of an expression on his face save for a small, grateful smile and the tiny glimmer in his eyes. “If I had known that, I would have told you all this a lot sooner,” he said quietly. “You are not angry either, that I kept the secret for so long?” “I’m sure you had your reasons,” Ambrose nodded. “And now, when I need to know the most, I know. Which means I can use these powers as best as I can.” “Yes. You finally have the life you deserve. Not that of a madman but that of a king’s advisor,” Alain returned Ambrose’s gesture and put his hand on his shoulder. “And I’m so happy for you.” Ambrose smiled widely and wrapped his arms around his brother, drawing him in and hugging him tightly. Alain gladly returned that hug. The pull of a vision dragged Ambrose out of his brother’s grasp, pulling him away from the moment to the scene it wanted show him. It was Courdon, or at least he assumed it was Courdon, judging by the surroundings. The throne in the centre of the enormous room was occupied by a man he recognised from seeing him briefly at the coronation: Prince Rafe, now king, after his father’s death eight months ago. Physically, he had not aged much, but his eyes and face were worn from the strain of ruling. He looked so weak. Especially when compared to the people around him. In particular, there were two who resembled him, an older man and a younger one. Both looked at the king like wolves would look upon an injured deer. He guessed that they were relations...and that they had plans. Plans which he knew would not end well for poor Rafe. As he came out of it, he closed his eyes and rested his head briefly on Alain’s shoulder. Courdon’s future seemed a lot less secure than Kyth’s. “Ambrose?” his brother asked quietly, a touch of concern in his voice. “What did you see?” “...Courdon. Prince Rafe will not have a long or happy reign,” he murmured. “I think his relations will eventually usurp him.” “It doesn’t surprise me. But this is Courdon. There is nothing we can do about them. All we can do is brace ourselves for the fallout,” Alain nodded. “I’ll tell Aldrich and Aines when I get back. I don’t know exactly when this will happen but they might as well know as soon as possible,” Ambrose replied. “I assume they know about your powers,” Alain said. “They know about them, just not the specific cause. I never told anybody about Cebeline. I’m not sure how they would react, knowing I have the powers of a dead god,” Ambrose gave a small laugh. “Probably for the best,” Alain finally unwound his arms from around his brother and turned back to the carriage. “Shall we go? There’s not much else for us to do here.” Ambrose looked back at the little pile of offerings at the shrine. The birds would probably get to it as soon as they left. That was quite symbolic. But all things had their time and all things had to die. Even time deities. “Yes, let’s go, Alain,” he said, turning around and heading back to the carriage. “Will you be coming to the royal wedding next month?” “Of course. By all accounts, it is quite a high-profile event and I am Grand Duke of Bern,” Alain smiled. “And I want to see for myself how King Galateo is adjusting.” Alain has taken great pains to find the site of Cebeline’s shrine and tree, which was actually a lot easier than you think because clairvoyance powers. So he comes out there with Ambrose, who has changed in subtle but noticeable ways, which makes Alain very happy. Ambrose feels like this is the right muddy field as well and then goes to where he thinks the shrine was, literally following his dreams. He finds a single fragment of it: a stone with a snowflake carved into it, marking it as the place. He leaves a small offering, which Alain says is pointless but Ambrose wants to. They have a conversation about blame, during which Ambrose tells Alain that he stopped him going mad. To which Alain finally asks if he hated him or blamed him. And Ambrose replies, heart-warmingly, that he never blamed him and is in fact grateful to Alain for keeping him sane. Hugs and heartwarms ensue. <3 But then, Ambrose sees the plotting in Courdon regarding Rafe and his murderous relations. He tells Alain, who replies that Kyth has to be ready for it when it comes. Ambrose says that he’ll inform Aldrich( Lizica) and Aines( icon), who know about his powers (tagged you guys so we're on the same page about them knowing). The Stallion brothers then leave, though they’ll see each other at the wedding.
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Post by Omni on Aug 14, 2014 19:24:02 GMT -5
<Four Days Before the Coronation>The Festival of the Summer Solstice. A celebration of the longest two days of the year. A time of merriment, indulgence, and entertainment. And for a knight, that last part meant "competition." A few rounds into the jousting tournament, Sir Orrin Ironbeard rode into the arena, soon to face his next opponent. It had been insisted that his second pair of hands be tied behind his back, but so far, that hadn't slowed him down. Once the other knight rode into place, Orrin lowered his visor. On command, they readied the lances that they had been given. The signal was given, and they rode toward each-other. He put as much of his focus as he could on his target, remembering to aim as if trying to hit behind his opponent. The distance between them closed... ...and the other knight was unhorsed. Orrin took a moment to raise his lance victoriously as the crowd made some noise (mostly drunken cheering), before approaching the other knight. Said knight got up and dusted himself off as Orrin reached a hand out. He said nothing (and his expression couldn't be read through his visor), but still took a moment to shake the hand of the victor, nodding before leading his horse away. Orrin rode out of the arena itself, making way for the next set of knights to joust. He dismounted for the time being, setting down his lance and tying Freddie to a post when a voice spoke up behind him. "A word with you in private, if I may."Orrin tensed inside his armor. He knew that voice. He recognized the accent and the thinly-veiled contempt. Lord Miller was standing behind him. And when Miller wanted to speak with him, it was almost never a good thing. Still, who was a knight to disobey his lord? Knowing Miller, Orrin switched to his Booveen accent. "Yes, m'lord," he said, turning and following Miller to a somewhat more secluded area, standing at ready once they arrived. Miller turned and looked at the knight, using a rather stern gaze. "I don't suppose you know why I asked to speak with you." Orrin looked at the Booveen lord from behind his visor. "I have a fair guess," he replied. There was a moment of tense silence before Miller spoke again. "The feast. I must say that I am rather disappointed. I didn't think you would outright violate your terms." "Stallion discovered my identity. I couldn't keep it a secret any longer." "Then why not wear a full Stallion garment? Your... mixture looked ridiculous." Orrin did his best to keep his voice level. "With all due respect, m'lord, I am sick and tired of hiding." "Still, you knew the terms: you could be a knight of Booveen so long as you kept it a secret. With the terms broken, your contract is void." Orrin forced himself to use as much respect as he could muster. "Is this what Sir Edwin would have wanted?" "Edwin Tarrin's dying wish was that you would be made a knight and I did just that. He may have been one of my most trusted knights, but frankly, his judgement was likely clouded when he took you up as a page. Coupled with the loss of his previous squire, he had received a head injury before he met you." Orrin had a few choice words to say, but chose to remain silent. A true knight minds his tongue, he reminded himself. A true knight minds his tongue...Miller looked straight into Orrin's visor and leaned close. "You are no longer affiliated with Booveen, nor welcome on House Booveen grounds." He started to walk away but then stopped. "And you can forget about returning to your little farm." Orrin stood silently as Miller walked away. Silently, untied his own hands, and returned the rope and lance he had been given. "Here," he said. "I forfeit." Quietly, he led Freddie away from the arena and through the festival. As much as the festival was a time of merriment, he was having a hard time enjoying it right now. With the first chance he got, he'd have to talk to Alain about the terms of his employment...
It had been largely coincidence that found Sieg paying a visit to Medieville a few days before the wedding of Joffery Jade and Hope Ascension. He'd not known about it prior, like his mother taking very little interest in politics, and had only come into the city thinking that it would be nice to see how it looked in the heart of spring. When he arrived to find Rosalie positively squealing with anticipation of the thing, he'd been caught very much by surprise. Later, over a drink at the King's Arms, he found out that Orrin too was going. Sieg didn't entirely fancy spending that entire day by himself, and thought it might be nice to attend an event at the Keep that was happy for a change. The issue though, was getting in. Morgaine and Rosalie had bought their way in, as they'd done at the feast nine months prior. But those tickets were long sold out, and they couldn't acquire another for Sieg. Orrin could attend by simple virtue of being affiliated with House Stallion, who were of course invited, but the Nid'aigle knight was only loosely in service to the Jades and too young to be a representative of his people. That left the complete random chance of the lottery... Until Sieg decided to turn to someone he knew was invited, and knew had the ear of the bridegroom. Leif had been surprised to learn that Sieg was interested in attending Hope and Joffery's wedding, but once the knight mentioned it the mage had been quick to arrange for Sieg's invitation. Leif still remembered the disaster of the coronation, and figured that one could never have too many knights attending, in the event that there was trouble. Now the day had come, and here Sieg was. He hadn't brought anything formal with him from Nid'aigle, but he'd been able to buy something from the local tailors that sufficed. Something that was elegant, but also practical in the event that he needed to use the sword clipped to his belt. Not that he really anticipated that happening. For now Sieg was content to sip free wine, and appreciate the simple happiness that Joffery and Hope were exuding. Sir Orrin Ironbeard had opted to stay in Medieville. While he was invited to stay in Destrier, he felt that Medieville was currently where he was needed more. (Plus, as much as he was glad that Alain had hired him, he wanted to stay as far from the Grand Duke's manipulations as he could. Not to mention that he'd already started feeling at home in Medieville.) He did visit Bern a few times. For him, it was a way to keep in touch with the Grand Duke and learn more about the House and region he was now affiliated with. For House Stallion, especially Alain, it also doubled as a way to show how accepting and progressive the House was. A lot of people - especially nobles - were worried about the rise of the new king. However, Orrin for one was optimistic. If there was one person who was frustrated about the divide of royalty and nobility from the commoners, it was Orrin. He'd been forced to live a double life from the time Sir Edwin took him up as a page to the time Stallion hired him, so he knew all too well that many of the commoners, especially the peasants, were stuck in a catch 22. He thought that having a king that knew what it was like to be a commoner would help close up the gap. Galateo hadn't tried to do anything especially revolutionary - which was understandable, considering what Orrin did know about politics - but there were still efforts here and there. He hoped that, over time, the divide would get smaller and smaller. Maybe one day, a breakthrough would even happen on its own. On a similar note, whereas time seemed to make his friend Sieg more quiet and serious, it seemed to have a nearly opposite effect on Orrin. His soft and serious side still remained, but his goofy and fun-loving side started surfacing more often - to the dismay of those who didn't appreciate his sometimes, erm, childish sense of humor. But yes, now that he was part of House Stallion, not having to hide either side of himself not only relieved him of a lot of trouble, but it allowed both sides to gradually become a unified whole. It took some time for him to fully work out his equilibrium, but once found, Orrin thought he rather liked his new self. Sure, there would always be those who thought he was weird, but eh, he'd learned to deal with that a long time ago. Required or not, Orrin wanted to attend the wedding for the sake of support; support of the new King and his family, and to support the bride and the groom. Even to support House Jade and hopefully a bit more unity in the kingdom. As for what he wore, well, Orrin had never really been one to put a lot into appearance, and preferred function over fashion. One thing he liked about being with Stallion is that they could actually take time to make things that he wanted, and that was really made to fit him. As such, he wore an outfit that was fancy enough to wear at a formal occasion, but still allowed him mobility and a degree of protection. He even had custom-made gloves and boots that allowed him better grip with his hands and feet. It was all in Stallion colors of course, and he even wore a new Knights Badge with the symbol of Stallion (he kept his old one back in his room). The only exception was the short sword he brought, slightly weathered and bearing designs of Booveen. At the party itself, he allowed himself to enjoy the festivities with enthusiasm. He also allowed himself to readily partake of the food, and even drink more than usual (the latter of which may have brought out his enthusiastic side even more). And so, after grabbing a plate full of food and a second goblet, he approached his fellow knight. "So? What do ya think of all this?" he asked, gesturing to the party in general, traces of a Stallion accent in his voice. Sieg glanced around at the sound of Orrin's voice and grinned crookedly. "I think there may be a great hangover to set records tomorrow morning. Not that that's a bad thing, of course. It's nice to see everyone in such high spirits." The half elf swirled his wine goblet, a bemused expression on his face. "Would you believe that I've never actually attended a wedding before? My friends back in the elf lands were all either married decades before I was born, or don't want to rush things. And who can blame them when they'll be alive for centuries to come?" "But I'm only half elf. I have no idea which of my bloodlines I'll favor, if I'll live centuries or only decades. So you know what? By Woo, I am going to enjoy myself today, and if there are to be consequences in the morning I'll pay them." He downed the rest of the goblet and flashed his friend a wide smile. "What about you, him?" Just as Sieg had asked that question, Orrin had finished a piece of food. "Mmm... Well I think ya should try the hors d'oeuvres." He licked his fingers then gave a wide smile back. "And I hear ya! I figure we don't get many days like today, so I'm gonna relish it!" Orrin took a gulp from his own goblet. "I don't think I've ever been to a weddin' either. Didn't get invited. Course, I don't know if I'll ever get a girl for myself. Depends on if I can find one that doesn't mind a 'four-armed monkey-man,' for starters." He looked at his plate, then showed it to Sieg. "Say, can ya tell me if any of this is Elvish?" The half elf laughed at Orrin's comment about the food, and glanced over the plate. "I suppose you could always go on one of those adventures like in the wondertales, where you save the damsel and she falls in love with you instantly. As a persistent bachelor myself, I am the last to offer advice on such things. You would be better of asking Leif, he's done well for himself despite his cosmopolitan approach to the concept of social graces." Sieg flashed a grin at the joke. Then he shook his head, "None of it is particular to Nid'aigle, though really for the most part what we eat there isn't that different from what the rest of Corvus eats. You'd actually be surprised how similar it is. The main differences are in little things, like a particular mix of spices or certain toppings to take the normal dish and make it just slightly better." He smiled apologetically. "It's a little haughty, but that's the general crux of Elven food. The same thing everyone else eats, but with the length of Elven lives and the opportunity for near limitless experimentation, it has all be perfected so that it's just so. Special events and holidays are the only times you usually see anything that is unique to the elves. Like that." He pointed to a goblet on the far end of the table. "That's Elvish honey wine- I could tell you the actual word but it's long and whimsical and even I think it's difficult to pronounce. But the stuff is very good- I can't honestly think of anything I've tasted that's better. The catch is that it's also very strong. Doesn't take much of it to get you really wasted. Honestly I almost think the Old Ones invented it to troll human drunkards." Orrin sniggered at the comment about rescuing a damsel, then paused in thought. "Funny ya should mention adventures. I was just thinking that one of the things I miss about bein' with Booveen is bein' off on some of the missions they gave me. Here in Medieville I'm mostly takin' care of stuff like thieves. However, one of the things I don't miss, is doin' it on my own." He gave Sieg a smile. "Whadya say? We might be able to adventure together if we asked. I might be able to get Alain to pull some strings if we need." Sieg blinked in surprise. "You mean go errant? Honestly the idea had never occurred to me. I've always just done the missions I was assigned. But... then again, I'm also the sort of person who doesn't really care much for personal glory. The life of a knight-errant always seemed like a very lonely one." He leaned back against the table and lifted his glass as if to toast. "But I guess if you were with me it'd probably be a lot of fun. I think I would enjoy that very much- though it's going to be a task and a half to get the company to give me dispensation for it! They are absolute bears about that sort thing." The more Sieg thought about the idea, the more he liked it. Orrin was every bit as cheerful for real as Sieg had once pretended to be, and adventuring through Kyth with him was bound to be a lot of fun. And it wasn't like they were going on a lark- they'd still be doing their duties and helping people, just doing so as they came across problems rather than waiting for problems to be reported to them wherever they were based. Orrin chuckled. "Yeh, I guess you could call it that." He raised his own glass. "To adventure, then?" Sieg grinned and clinked his glass against Orrin's- only to remember a moment later he'd already emptied it. "Ahaha... Oops," he said, rubbing his head sheepishly. Orrin chuckled. "Want me to get that for you?" He grabbed a nearby bottle and held it up, pouring some wine into Sieg's glass when it had been raised to receive the alcoholic beverage. After setting the bottle down, they decided to try again, clinking their glasses together. "Cheers!" Back at the festival, Orrin was jousting in a tournament. Between opponents, he's approached by Lord Miller Booveen. Basically, Orrin was only allowed to be a knight of Booveen so long as he kept it a secret, and since Orrin blatently wore a Booveen tabard at the feast, he's no longer with Booveen and can't return to his farm in Kine. Now emotionally distraught, Orrin forfeits the tournament. He makes a mental note to talk to Alain ( Celestial) about his employment ASAP. * We hear what Orrin and Sieg ( Shinko) have been up to over the time skip. Now relieved from a lot of stress, they each start to become more like their true selves. (Sieg is calmer, Orrin is goofier.) Orrin attends the wedding for the sake of support, and Sieg attends because Orrin's going. They both enjoy the party. They talk about weddings, bachelorhood, and adventures. At the mention of adventures, Orrin suggests that they go on them together. Sieg gives it some thought and likes the idea. They agree to talk to their respective employers about it and have a toast to KNIGHT ADVENTURES!
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Post by Tiger on Aug 14, 2014 19:46:36 GMT -5
Leif returned to the hallway twenty minutes later, shaking so much the papers in his hands rattled audibly. Logically, it should not have felt like the most important conversation he’d ever had in his entire life - in fact, he could name off the top of his head which conversations those were; the arguments against using the Killing Curse. Maybe it was just because the purpose behind those conversations wasn’t so...flustering. For all his practice with Ayleth, Leif had not presented his points cleanly. He would never be a public speaker; he would have made a terrible priest. Leif had spoken too quickly, stumbled on his words, and his mouth had gone dry about halfway into his speech, adding the strange and slightly distracting noise of his tongue sticking to his teeth and the roof of his mouth to the pauses between syllables. But it was probably the most Everett had heard him speak at once, and, perhaps behind the arguments against the Killing Curse, the most passionate Leif had been about a decision. That must have counted for something. He went back for his room, pausing to talk to nobody and barely noticing the curious glances of a few lingering servants, who might have heard the conversation or just noticed how unusually Leif had been acting lately. Leif shut the door behind him, set the papers down on his desk, and ran his hands over his face as if to wipe away his nervousness. It must have worked; Leif couldn’t contain a fierce grin any longer. He should probably attend to the papers - most of them were blank but there was a list of things Everett wanted him to write down and report before the Jades left, so that they would have not only a list of things Leif needed sent to Marson Manor, but also the information on certain spells, the stocks of potions, and how exactly Leif had ordered the magic and nature sections of the Jade Manor library. Everett was expecting them as soon as possible. Leif pulled on his gloves, jessed Ayleth, and headed for the stables. The kite took off as Leif approached the building, giving an irate-sounding shriek. The kite didn’t much like horses, but Leif didn’t want to waste the time walking would take. He’d also been advised not to physically strain himself too much while he finished recovering from the last vestiges of bloodloss and the pull. As he swung into Troiss’ saddle and led the horse outside, Leif looked up at the Keep. From here, the blood and damages weren’t visible, but Leif could picture it all easily enough. A bit of gloom crept over his expression as he remembered the one casualty whose name he had known. Ilaria Braide, the woman who had not only participated in the closet incident, but later helped Xavier and Jeniver subdue the Courdonian who had attacked Morgaine Braham. Leif hadn’t seen her during the fight, but it was hard to stop thinking that maybe, if he had, he could have done something to save her. But the fact was...he hadn’t been. And even if he had, it might have been too late for his magic to do any good, or at the point where Leif had no magic left to give. There was certainly nothing Leif could do now...except try to take what message he could from such a tragedy, and make sure the ones he loved were appreciated while he and they were still around to feel it. Because you never knew. Leif guided Troiss out of the stable and spurred her toward the fence. He’d promised Kirin he’d tell him as soon as possible what Everett’s decision had been. Leif gets his permission from Everett to stay in Medieville, yaaay! He ditches paperwork and goes outside, where he reflects on the death of Ilaria ( Pixie) before heading off to see Kirin to tell him the good news. Wedding-era post tomorrow.
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Post by Shinko on Aug 15, 2014 11:32:41 GMT -5
"Mercury, no," Morgaine said sternly as the cat threaded between her legs persistently. "I know you're jealous, but you're too big for me to carry around for as many hours as this is likely to last." The silver tabby glowered up at her, then trotted out of the room with an annoyed sneeze. "You are more then old enough not to behave like a spoiled child," Morgaine called after him, her good eye rolling skyward. Rust mewled softly from her perch on Morgaine's left shoulder, and the old woman smiled thinly as she petted the cat's head. In the months since she'd lost her eye, Rust and Mercury had taken it upon themselves to start riding her shoulder on the bad side whenever she left the shop. If she was about to walk into something, or if someone was about to walk into her, the cat would lick Morgaine's ear and she would stop walking. Though she'd been known to occasionally take her cats with her on walks outside, the presence of one with her everywhere- even inside buildings- had earned Morgaine some strange looks until people got used to it. It had taken a bit of string pulling for her to get permission to bring Rust to the wedding in the first place- she doubted Lord Joffery and Princess Hope would particularly appreciate a second cat wandering the floor randomly. The cats hadn't been able to work out a means of compensating for Morgaine's damaged arm, but fortunately they hadn't needed to. While it was still too damaged to use for her work Morgaine had been surprised to find Laurie willing and able to help out. The young woman- or man, as Morgaine found out- was a tremendous help, and eventually the locksmith's arm had healed enough that she could craft again. An occasional annoying but not detrimental muscle spasm was all that remained of the almost fatal injury. Still, it had frightened her, not being able to work. That was something of a wake up call, a realization that if the worst had happened when the Courdonian attacked her, Rosalie would have been left alone in the Lock and Key shop. Rosalie didn't know how to craft locks, and wasn't keen to learn. Without Morgaine she'd have a much harder time keeping the buisness profitable enough to make a living. So Morgaine had begun putting out the word that she was looking to take on an apprentice. A neccesary step, though it made Rosalie a touch jealous. Sieg's more frequent visits had been a blessing, though they did make Morgaine think about her other child- Ophelia, Sieg's younger sister. They'd had a rather nasty falling out when Morgaine left Nid'aigle for Medieville. Her relationship with her son repaired, the locksmith was begining to think it might be time to try and bury the hachet with her daughter as well. Time enough for that later. For today, Morgaine intended to let Ilsa get wasted out of her mind and watch the innkeeper make a fool of herself. And laugh. Morgaine's recovered from the events around Starmey's death, and has since started carrying a cat around on her shoulder at all times to help with the lack of vision on her left side. She's also looking for an apprentice (did she find one yet? I don't know, possibly if anyone is interested, if not then she's still "looking.") And thinking of making a trip to Nid'aigle sometime in the future to try and make up with her daughter.
For now though, she plans to have fun at the wedding. She's completely open to interactions with anyone, so feel free to poke her or shoot me a PM if you want to arrange something more elaborate.
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Post by PFA on Aug 15, 2014 12:44:42 GMT -5
Joffery was overjoyed. There was such a great turnout for his and Hope's wedding, and everyone looked so happy. It was a vast improvement over the chaos of the Jades' last trip to Medieville, that was for sure. Instead of war and destruction, there was celebration and (most importantly) music. He was happy, Hope was happy, and everywhere around him, people were happy. What more could a man ask for? "Joffery!" came a familiar voice. Joffery turned to look just as he was tackled and hugged by his cousin, Jeniver. "Congratulations! I'm so happy for you." "Thank you," Joffery replied, returning the hug. "It's really a lovely reception, isn't it? The chefs really went all out with the food." "Yeah! It's really nice." Jeniver smiled. "I really liked that song you sung for Hope." "Ah, thank you. I thought it was some of my best work." Joffery beamed. "But only the best for my lovely Hope, of course. " Hope shines brightly here today Your smile takes my cares away My heart beats strong, my voice rings true— I'll sing forevermore for you!" "Well, I too am proud of you, Joffery," spoke Lady Helena, from behind Jeniver. "I foresee many happy days ahead for you and Princess Hope." "Yeah, me too." Jeniver giggled. "Say, if you're married to a princess, does that mean you're a prince now?" "Don't encourage him, Jeniver," Lord Charles warned. "Prince Joffery, huh?" Joffery mused. "I do like the sound of that..." Helena rolled her eyes. "Too late." Jeniver just laughed. It was a good day, indeed. Joffery is adorable and so is Jeniver. Joff sings Hope's ( Lizzie) praises.
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Post by Tiger on Aug 15, 2014 18:06:43 GMT -5
Leif peered around the stack of books on his desk at the knock on the door. “Ah - come in?” One of the House servants stepped cautiously into the room, visibly relaxing when she found Leif with a quill in hand instead of his wand. “Master Leif, if you’d like to reach the Keep by the hour you set, you’ll need to start getting ready now.” “It’s that late already?” Leif looked toward the window, where Ayleth sat on a perch looking out at the culvert below, then back down at his desk. The page in front of him was covered in chains of runes and untidy, scrawled notes at the edges. Not as much progress made on figuring out the rune chain as Leif had hoped for, and no sign of a hook to pull at it with, but Leif just wasn’t seeing anything useful. Sighing, he folded a scrap piece of parchment and tucked it into the book he was referencing...then a blank sheet of paper in the second book… and a dry quill in the third… a paperweight went atop his notes to keep them in place, and Leif got up from the desk, edging around the reference materials. He paused only to snatch up an envelope with a folded sheet of parchment inside; he was almost out of references on Courdonian magic already, and he needed to give a list of requested books to one of the Corvus-stationed Jades at the wedding so he could get them delivered all the sooner. Though Leif and Xavier were making some progress in undoing what Xavier’s former masters had done, Leif wanted to be doing more. He knew the horror of suppressed and painful magic too well to be comfortable leaving Xavier subjected to the same. The Courdonian’s methods were frustratingly complex and unfamiliar, however, and so Leif was forced to pour through books - books full of casually-mentioned atrocities that made him want to go down to Courdon and take every last one of their mages out himself - to find even the tiniest clues as to how to undo or overcome the spellwork. The past nine months had been busier than ever for Leif - but it was the best sort of busy, really. Ironically, despite the fact that he’d more or less officially left his post as House Jade Archmage by staying here, Leif felt more like an Archmage than ever. Apparently lots of people here had magical anomalies they wanted help solving, and they were particularly thorny ones that required lots of research and the ability to do a lot of heavy testing. It was like Leif had been made for this job. For now, though, some of his less magic-oriented duties were calling. Though he knew it was foolish, Leif couldn’t shake a worry that something might go wrong at the wedding; the last big ceremony at the Keep had been memorably bloody. No Courdonian nobility had been invited, of course, and there weren’t currently any dangerous rebellions hoping to take power...but still. Leif had been careful to use as little magic as possible in the past few days, and would be taking a satchel of various healing potions. Both Sir Sieg and Sir Orrin would be there, bolstering the Keep’s knights by two very capable soldiers. Leif had been much more firm-handed with the tailors this time as well, ensuring that he had an outfit that was decent for fighting before it was presentable for a royal ceremony. The tailors had not put up quite as much of a fuss as Leif would have expected; but then, they had seen what a mess the fighting had made of Leif’s coronation outfit. Leif changed quickly, thinking about how different things would be at the Manor with Joffery returning to Corvus. He might have felt a touch more sentimental about it, had he not spent part of last week arguing Joffery out of sending home for a pair of phoenixes to sit on his and Hope’s shoulders during the wedding. “Any phoenix small enough to fit on your shoulder,” Leif had explained tiredly, “is also too young to always control its fire.” “You could put a spell on our clothes to make them fireproof! It might even be better if they did burn - to symbolize my love for Hope!” “Phoenixes have very long tails, Lord Joffery. I’m not fireproofing the entire Keep and everyone inside it. If something happens at the wedding I want to make sure I have plenty of magic.” Joffery had considered this a moment. “A dragon could control its fire,” he said. “The one flying around at the coronation roared a perfect A-minor - it would harmonize beautifully with the song I have planned for my lovely Hope. Maybe you could - “ “ Absolutely not!” His frustrations with Joffery’s ideas aside, Leif did wish him well. The singer had proven himself much braver and smarter than Leif had thought at the Bloody Coronation, when he’d distracted the Courdonian soldier and saved both Leif and Sieg’s lives. It made it easier to be more patient with the man. ...Usually, anyway, and it wasn’t as if Joffery was the only thing that went wrong sometimes. Luckily on those days, Leif could usually get out of the manor and find a quiet place to flop down and pretend his various duties didn’t exist - preferably somewhere where Kirin could join him and they could talk, or he could just sit and listen to Kirin’s quill softly scratching against a page or the sounds of his knife carving a new wooden trinket. Not that Leif waited for excuses to go see Kirin. That was the reason he was here, after all, no matter what he’d told Everett. Nine months had gone by and still the Stallion didn’t seem to be tired of him, and Leif was no less infatuated with Kirin. Leif had been a little afraid that since they’d started their relationship so quickly the feelings would somehow wear off, or that they’d find things about each other they really didn’t like, or even that Kirin would be somehow put off when Leif told him he was an Archmage - not that that made any sense given how much magic Kirin had seen and shown no aversion to Leif casting. But none of those things had happened, and much sooner than Leif would have expected of himself, he settled into and embraced the realization that this wasn’t an impermanent fixation - this was every bit as real as he’d felt all along. Realizing his thoughts were drifting, Leif hurriedly grabbed his wand and the satchel of potions, and headed for the door. He was still daunted by the idea of a party - any large gathering of people still meant lots of noise and movement - but at least there would be people he was looking forward to seeing there. Leif was going on ahead of the rest of his House, to be completely annoying and try to scout the place out a bit beforehand. Instead of taking an entire carriage and inconveniencing the other Jades, Leif mounted Troiss, who’d been saddled and was waiting with the stableboy near the gate. A loud raptor’s shriek made the stableboy wince and Troiss’ ears pin back. Ayleth swooped down and landed on Leif’s shoulder, which thankfully was covered in enough padding that her talons didn’t turn his shoulder into a pincushion. “I don’t know if they’ll let you in, sweetling,” Leif told the kite, “but let’s see.” Ayleth was not allowed in, not surprising Leif in the slightest, but certainly disappointing him. He noticed very high, narrow windows in the room, though, and not long after the ceremony had concluded, Leif glanced up to see Ayleth scowling down at everybody. He smirked as he looked back down at his plate, picking up another one of the Mediville-fruit-filled pies. Delicious and full of sugar, in case he needed to recharge his magic - though it was looking like nothing would go wrong after all. He glanced around the room, chewing, in search of familiar faces. Leif reflects on how things have been for the past nine months (involving stuff with Joffery ( PFA), Xavier ( Elcie), and Kirin ( Killix), before heading out a little early for the wedding to make sure nobody’s gonna pull any funny business >=I Later he is at a table eating pie, and Ayleth is at a window glaring at everybody. ((Thanks to Shinko for inspiring Joffery’s phoenix-based wedding plans, and Elcie and PFA for checking over the parts concerning their characters < 3!))
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Post by Kristykimmy on Aug 15, 2014 18:24:19 GMT -5
Nine Months Ago:Lucinda finished writing her letter to Ambrose about her return to Drestrier. She was glad to be home again, but it felt so different after her time in Medieville. Everything looked different to her now. “Dolly, may I ask you a question?” Lucinda asked as she set the vase on the table, her fingers caressing the smooth exterior as she removed them. She was glad she had the vase to bring back with her. In it was a piece of her friend, the new king. “Since when do you ask before asking?” Dolly laughed as she placed some of Lucinda's now unpacked belongings on her desk. “I hope it's not a personal question; not that I've anything to hide from you, milady. I have known you since your birth after all, so I am fairly confident you know fairly everything about me by now.” “It is a personal question, but it is about me. I would like you to be honest with me, but if you feel you cannot be, I understand,” Lucinda said, sitting down next to her harp and playing a few notes. “Dolly, I can't sing, can I?” Dolly coughed and took a moment replying. “You couldn't. You have improved recently. I suppose it is the vase.” Lucinda smiled awkwardly, everyone knew about the vase. How foolish she had been to think she could hide it. “Father would be ashamed of me, wouldn't he?” Lucinda said, looking at the harp. Dolly came and knelt down next to her, taking the girl's hand. She smiled at the girl who she had looked after for the last eighteen years. “No, Lucinda, Baron Ewan would be proud of the young woman you're blossoming into. He loved you too much to ever be ashamed of you, regardless what you do with your life.” Dolly turned to the harp and smiled, taking Lucinda's hand and running her fingers along the strings. They reverberated, the notes singing through the air. “He played the piano, your father, and you used to pull your hands along the strings of the harp just like that. He wanted to teach you piano, but he knew the harp was your instrument. You used to sit in his lap and sing songs he had taught you as he played the piano to accompany you. Your voice was very sweet for one so young, though you often stumbled over the words. It brought him so much joy.” “He called me his songbird,” Lucinda recalled, not sure if she remembered it because he called her that or because she had been told before that was his pet name for her. Her father had long ago faded from memories in her mind to an emotion in her heart. Alain had filled the places Ewan once had in her mind, but he had not lost his place in her heart. “When you came here, you stopped singing. You were twelve before you took up the harp again. And even then, you were not serious about it. You took it up because you were made to, told it was part of your training to be a lady. You talked of writing grand epics rather than learning to sing and play. I think you were lost; afraid to simply sing again, even though you no longer knew why. I think you've improved because you've learned to love it again, because you found a friend in King Galateo and the vase he gave you.” Lucinda rose and went over to her desk. Dolly had already placed the papers from Medieville on it. She shuffled through them, finding the ballad she had written for the wedding of Destiney and Garrick she once believed would happen. Also there was the song she had wrote about Starmey she had hoped to perform for the young queen. How sad they seemed to her now. She emptied the desk drawers, reading over her work and realizing how little she knew about what she had written. Had she really been that vapid only weeks ago? She took them and tossed them in the grate. “What are you doing, milady?” Dolly asked. “Leave it for kindling. Let the dead have their peace,” Lucinda said, turning away. Dolly looked at the papers in the grate, saddened. If Lucinda could see the silliness of those childish songs, she had truly changed in Medieville. She had stayed so much younger than other girls somehow. She looked at the girl, who was standing at the table, holding the vase and looking at it with a solemn smile. She smiled softly. “May I ask you a question, milady?” “Of course, Dolly.” “Will you learn to sing?” Lucinda smiled, stroking her vase. “Of course I will. I owe it to everyone. To those I met in Medieville, the friends I made, the friends I lost. I don't know where my place falls in this world, but what I can do is change what about me ought to change.” *** For Lucinda, returning to Medieville was the highlight of her year. The nineteen-year-old had changed little outwardly, but inside she had. Learning to sing had only been the beginning of that change. Spurred by what she had learned about the Shadows' motives for forming in the first place, she had begun to spend more time among the common people of Drestrier. She found that in common dress, no one suspected her of being a noblewoman, and she was very good at getting people to tell her their problems. She would pass that information on where she could to try to better the lives of those in Drestrier. They were small acts, but she did what she could. Ambrose had been waiting to greet them on their return to Medieville. Lucinda had hardly let the carriage stop before she was out and embracing him. Despite only seeing him once since he had become Aldrich's advisor, the letters they had written had brought them closer, and Lucinda found in him the uncle she never had in her mother's brothers. Lucinda couldn't help shedding a tear or two at the wedding. Joffrey had turned out to be much a less vapid man than she had thought he was during their meetings while he was competing for Destiney's hand. She wished Garrick would learn a thing or two from him. The songs he serenaded his bride with were touching. The feast was off to a glorious start, and Lucinda looked forward to speaking with all her friends from events that had surrounded Aldrich's return nine months ago. But, of course, there was one friend above all she intended to see. Lucinda returns to Drestrier and has a heartfelt talk with Dolly about herself. Lucinda parts with her epics in exchange for a simple promise to become a better person in memory of everyone who touched her life over the course of the last few weeks.
Cut to nine months later. A sneaky little Lucinda is putting her unrealized talents to good use. She's glad to be back in Medieville and hoping to catch up with old friends.
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Post by Shinko on Aug 15, 2014 19:51:54 GMT -5
((Posted with permission from Tiger)) Morgaine was walking casually through the courtyard, a small glass of hard cider in one hand, when a hesitant voice calling "Mrs. Braham?" made her jump. She turned to see that she'd almost walked right into Leif Jade on her blind side. "Oh! Sorry Master Leif, it seems my helper wasn't paying enough attention." She prodded Rust, who had indeed become distracted by the presence of the huge bird of prey overhead and stopped watching Morgaine's path. The feline glanced around and, noticing Leif, belatedly licked her mistress on the ear. "Yes, I know he's there now," the old woman said dryly. Turning her attention back to Leif, she smiled. "Sorry, usually she warns me if I'm about to walk into something or someone but like all cats she has the attention span of a two-year-old child when it comes to birds and shiny objects. It would have been rather unfortunate if I walked into you and got cider all over your nice clothes. They probably cost more then I earn in a month." The cat sneezed in Morgaine's ear, making her wince, then she jumped down and walked over to Leif, bumping her head against his leg. Morgaine chuckled. "I think she remembers you saved her life last summer." She took a sip of her cider, watching the cat suck up. Then she remembered something, and spoke again. "I owe you a thanks, by the way, for getting Sieg in. He was rather melancholy about having to spend the entire day by himself in the city. He should probably start letting me know in advance when he plans to make these visits, but then again he was always rather spurr-of-the-moment, even as a child." Morgaine almost walks into Leif on her blind side (Seeing-eye-cat distracted by Ayleth) but he gets her attention and spares them both the embarrassment. She chides her cat, who goes to say hi to Leif, then thanks the Jade for helping Sieg get into the wedding. She makes a crack about Sieg having a habit of not thinking before he does things, a trait I'm sure Leif is well familiar with given how Sieg behaved during the coronation events. 8D
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Post by Celestial on Aug 15, 2014 21:09:01 GMT -5
He never in a million years expected the shift from 'mad old man who occassionally made useful things' to 'royal advisor' to be smooth or easy but when it actually came to it, Ambrose had been completely overwhelmed. The aftermath of the coronation and the shift in power the Shadows had brought would have been diffcult to handle for anybody but for somebody like him, who had never held down a position of authority in his life, it had been almost impossible. Aines and Queen Maia handled most of it, thankfully, bringing their much-needed experience to the table. At least he was not alone in learning on the job: Aldrich was handling himself fine but Ambrose was sure that they were both picking things up as they went along. However, during those first few meetings, he did not say much, instead he stayed quiet and listened, partly in order to learn more about actually being a royal advisor and partly because he did not want to say the wrong thing. And of course, he did not want to start saying something and break off into a vision as he always did. Just because he knew the cause did not mean it made them any easier to handle, or made them look more appealing to outsiders. At least now he knew he was definitely not mad. Ambrose had told Aldrich, Aines, the Shadow council and everyone who needed to know about the time magic as soon as possible, wanting to explain with a clear head instead of just after a vision while his mind was still returning to the proper time. Before, especially in Bern, with no evidence to back him up, with nothing except a feeling, he would have been dismissed as mad by anybody. But now, armed with carefully selected evidence (he did not want to tell them everything, for risk of returning to sounding mad) he had approached the problem. And they had understood. In hindsight, Ambrose should have known better, considering Aldrich's own magic, but to hear that had been such a relief for him. That's when he began his job in earnest. He had seen probably tens of thousands of visions in his entire life, most of them without context save what he could glean from them, and most of them useless, but it had given him a pool of experience wider than most people's. Drawing on that pool, without fearing the answer to the question of "how did you know that?", without being questioned about the veracity of it, without his character being called into question was such a great relief. However, Ambrose soon ran into another obstacle: while his visions allowed him to draw on the experiences of other people, that's all they were; the experiences of others, which might not have fit the current situation. But then again, was that not fairly similar to what he had done with his visions to create all the inventions he had made over the course of his life? Yes, a lot of them he had seen in his visions but there was more to inventing than just seeing. He had sketched out the blue prints, figured out how it worked, filled in the gaps where the vision had not been clear enough, improvised with materials or technology which was not yet available and could not be made in the current time, drawn on previous experience with similar gadgets...and all to create an item which, despite starting out as completely foreign, was uniquely his. Could not the solutions to the kingdom's many problems be approached like that? Ambrose had to at least give it a try. Despite feeling underqualified, he genuinely wanted to help people, to make their lives better alongside everyone else who was doing the same. He did not want to let all those who believed in him and he felt were relying on him down. And it worked. Ambrose carefully constructed his suggestions at first, drawing on his visions and his own knowledge, but as time went on, he was more and more comfortable in presenting whole ideas to Aldrich and his council. The fact that Aldrich had a similar approach to him in his ruling made it all the better. He also noted that having a noble be part of the ruling structure alongside the peasants did make the decisions a bit more palatable to some of the less accepting noble houses, something which Ambrose was glad to do, even if he felt slightly uncomfortable at being looked upon as such. And as time went on and the summer turned to autumn, Ambrose began to carry himself higher and his voice became more confident, more assured in what he was saying. The visions still came, once a day usually, and he avoided very public or high-profile events because of them, preferring to work behind the scenes when he could, but it did not really matter. Those events were important but what he did day by day was even more so. As long as he could do that job, that was what mattered to him. By the time winter came, he felt like he had began to settle into his new life. But, nevertheless, he did his best not to forget his old one. Ambrose missed Destrier greatly but he had plenty still to link him to it. The most obvious was Kirin, who was invaluable in keeping him organised and on track as well as for running the Manor and keeping it liveable, though it was clear that the younger man had other things on his mind. Ambrose, for one, was more than happy for him and Leif. But there were other things: him and Lucinda both kept their promises to write and even though he was often busy, Ambrose tried to reply to her as promptly as he could. From her letters, he could tell that she was maturing, especially when she had told him about her exploits in peasant dress. Ambrose had to restrain himself from telling her about some of Alain's exploits, figuring he would tell her in due time, if he had not already. Above all, however, he never stopped inventing. It had slowed greatly, of course, now that he had his duties to the king, but by now, it had become such a part of him that Ambrose could not give it up even if he wanted to. As far as he was concerned, it was part of his duty to the people of Kyth, to continue innovating and, well, maybe not charging, he knew the consequences of that better than anybody, but moving towards tomorrow. Alain had sent down his tools, blueprints, materials and everything he had in his workshop in Destrier Castle, and there had been a spare room in Stallion Manor that had been converted to serve the purpose of his new workshop, but immediately, he ran into a big problem. Having no blacksmithing experience, Ambrose had always relied on others to build the parts of his inventions for him. The blacksmith in Destrier who he was a regular customer of had never been fully convinced that the Stallion noble's inventions worked but he was good-natured enough to humour a madman, especially a madman from the ruling house of Bern who could pay handsomely. But now, in Medieville, he was no longer an option. Ambrose had to find a new contact. The answer had come in the form of one of the former Shadows and a member of the Shadow council: Clarissa Falconer. Once Ambrose had realised that she had the experience and that she was also the one who had worked on Tony's car, he had approached her with the proposal. To his joy, she had accepted. He was not sure how she felt about the no magic rule he had insisted on, since he knew a lot of her creations relied on magic, but she never broke it. And she was an excellent blacksmith. He had given her one of his older blueprints, a mariner's astrolabe as it was called, to see how she would handle it and the parts had come back perfect. Once it was assembled, Ambrose gave it to Clarissa as a gift. She had no real use for it, he knew that much, but neither did he and she deserved it for her work. Of course, aside from his advising, other things had changed. Ambrose stayed in touch with everyone in Medieville who he had met, most importantly Xavier, who he was more than happy to continue the friendship with even if they had their own separate lives to lead. Even if he did not have time, Ambrose would always make time for his friend, who he watched grow and change with pride. It was hard to believe that this was the same young man he had met that summer. But aside from Xavier, there were others, ones who he had met under less happy circumstances in the past. The first time Ambrose went to check on the Kiddes was a week after her Briar's release and to his relief, he had not been greeted with hostility. That was good enough. From then, he visited whenever he could, never coming empty handed, whether it was with gifts of food or of money or other useful items they could need. And he always made sure to listen to them, both Briar and Laurie, if they wanted to talk to him. They did about some things and not about others, which was their business. He was not going to pressure them. But at least, he was glad to note, they seemed happy. Briar especially, had recovered for the most part, thanks in part to the efforts of Arthur, the young man who had come to free her that day. It seemed that love was in the air for a lot of people. Really, Ambrose should not have been so surprised when the royal wedding was announced. But his feelings about it were the same ones he felt for everyone else who had found somebody: happy. He would never know what it was like, he was far too old, but that was alright. In between his job, his inventing, his friends, his boost in confidence and the fact that, even for a short while, a bright future loomed ahead, Ambrose was sure in saying that he was happier than he had ever been in his life. It was only when he went back to Destrier to visit what once was Cebeline's shrine did he realise that he had missed Alain. But even that was not as painful as it had been before. Unlike Ambrose, his brother had barely changed during the interrim, and it was clear as day that he was happy for him. Both brothers were leading good lives and as long as each knew that, they could easily be content apart. It still did not make seeing Alain and the rest of the family at the royal wedding any less special, of course. And, judging by Lucinda's hug that had almost knocked him off his feet, they were glad to see him too. The wedding itself had been a spectacular feat of planning and seeing it all come together was definitely something special. Joffery and Hope were a good couple, and the way he seemed to care for her was very heartwarming. At the feast, the newlyweds had been toasted many times, though Ambrose did not join in due to his aversion to drinking. He wondered at what point it would be polite to present them with the gift he had made for them; a device that kept beats. He suspected that Joffery would appreciate it more than Hope though. "A far cry from the grimness of the last royal event," Alain beside him said at last. He had been carefully regarding the proceedings, scanning the former Shadows and the king with a judging look and while his expression was largely unreadable, Ambrose could feel that he was far from displeased. "Thankfully," Ambrose nodded. "We do not need more tragedy. Especially since it feels like we are still reeling from what happened nine months ago." "Time will heal everything, Ambrose," Alain smirked. "But this will help. I suspect the royal wedding will help the kingdom forget the Bloody Coronation. The worst tragedy that can happen here is if Lord Joffery sings a sour note." "That would be awful," Ambrose smiled back at him. "Especially in front of his new bride." "Let's hope that doesn't happen then," Alain said and kept scanning the crowd, spotting some familiar faces along the way. In particular, his eyes rested upon Sieg Braham, happily talking to Orrin. He had also spotted his mother amongst the crowd but his senses told him that whatever Sieg and Orrin were talking about, it needed addressing first. So, with that, Alain stood up from the Stallion table. "Where are you going?" Ambrose asked. Alain smiled and pointed out the two knights. "This is something I should probably check on before it gets out of control," he grinned. "Especially since a Stallion knight is involved." "Go then," Ambrose said, smiling back at him. Alain stepped away from the table and made a beeline for Sieg and Orrin, keeping his approach quiet and subtle. Even if he had not, however, nothing short of a rampaging bear could have distracted the two and they would have gone back to their conversation as soon as that had been taken care of, especially with that wine they were drinking. He could not help but notice Sieg's attitude, however. The half-elf definitely still had his demons plaguing him but they seemed like they had lessened somehow. His cheerfulness was not as unnatural as it had been before at least. Which, Alain supposed was a start. Despite himself, he could not help but feel a little happy for Sieg. As soon as he had come close enough, he tapped his cane against the flagstones, getting their attention. "Hello, Sir Orrin, Sir Sieg. What is this I hear?" Alain asked, grinning fiendisly. "Are you planning to steal my knight away from me, Sir Sieg? Or are you planning to run away from my service, Sir Orrin?" Ambrose, meanwhile, noticed the commotion going on at the dessert table with Princess Karma and Aura. Aines was already there, trying to mediate between the two girls, or stop them fighting, and Aldrich was going over to help, but he figured he might as well offer his assistance. So, he got up and promptly headed over, coughing to get the attention of the two princesses. "Princess Karma, Princess Aura," he glanced between them both. "Please, enough. There is enough cake there for both of you." He picked up a nearby knife and cut the slice into two, dividing it up and putting the slices onto two seperate plates, presenting them to both of the twins. Ambrose is happy. <3 He recaps what happened during the last nine months to make him so. At first he was uncomfortable with adivising the king but then he got the hang of it, treating it just like inventing, especially since everyone who needs to know about his powers. He is happy for Kirin( Killix) and Leif( Tiger), happy for Lucinda( Kristykimmy) for following in Alain's footsteps, has found a new invention-friend in Clarissa( Layla "Nimbus" Karimi), is proud of Xavier( Elcie) for growing more and more awesome, does his best to help and therapy the Kiddes( Avery)( Liou) as a way to make up for the whole 'imprisoned in a basement' thing although Briar doesn't need it with her boyfriend and all. Despite not being in a 'ship, he's happy, even though he misses big brother a little, but it's okay. The family come down for the wedding anyway and are currently there, at least the Stallion brothers are. They talk about how hopefully nothing will go wrong before Alain notices Sieg( Shinko) and Orrin ( Omni) planning adventures and decides he wants to go mess with them a bit. Ambrose, meanwhile, spots Aines( icon) struggling with Karma and Aura( Lizzie) and goes over to solve the argument in his usual, patient woob-dad ways.
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Post by Tiger on Aug 15, 2014 21:36:38 GMT -5
Leif smiled slightly in reply to Morgaine's apology, but he felt a twinge of guilt, as he often did when Morgaine’s eye or arm gave her trouble. He’d learned already that the lockmaker’s response to his apologies was to brush them aside, however, and Leif didn’t want to start any sort of argument in the middle of a wedding. Instead, he followed Rust’s gaze to Ayleth and commented, “I wouldn’t recommend attacking that one, Rust. Ayleth will give as good as she gets.” "Sorry, usually she warns me if I'm about to walk into something or someone but like all cats she has the attention span of a two-year-old child when it comes to birds and shiny objects.Ah - that probably explained the ear-lick. “People tell me cats can't be trained. I suppose they’re right.” ”It would have been rather unfortunate if I walked into you and got cider all over your nice clothes. They probably cost more then I earn in a month." Leif snorted, waving a hand dismissively. “With as much padding as I asked for in this, I’d be surprised if it sank through the first layer. How long does it take to get used to Medievillian winters, exactly?” Rust jumped down from Morgaine’s shoulder and nudged at Leif in what he thought might be affection - it might also be a request for food. On principle, Leif generally wasn’t fond of cats; they were bird-hunters and manipulative besides. "I think she remembers you saved her life last summer," Morgaine commented. “Good memory,” Leif admitted. He bent briefly to scratch Rust behind the ears. He had to admit that it was sort of nice to be able to touch an animal without expecting it to claw at him. Raptors were not very pettable creatures. He looked up from stroking the cat’s back when Morgaine started to speak. "I owe you a thanks, by the way, for getting Sieg in. He was rather melancholy about having to spend the entire day by himself in the city. He should probably start letting me know in advance when he plans to make these visits, but then again he was always rather spurr-of-the-moment, even as a child."“It was no trouble. If I were being rude, I might say that Lord Joffery should have invited the man who saved his life without my reminder. Fortunately, I would never be rude at such a formal occasion.” His tone becoming more genuine, he said, “I’m glad I was able to help, though. I owe him my life as well, it seems like the least I could do.” Carefully, Leif picked up the cat so she would have an easier time getting to Morgaine’s shoulder when she was ready. The animal was surprisingly more...liquidy than Leif would have expected. “So what brought you here? I was under the impression you weren't a fan of all this...ceremony.” He might have gestured if he wasn't afraid the cat would somehow slip out of his hands. Picking Rust up might not have been his best idea. Leif chats with Morgaine ( Shinko), being totally polite and absolutely not at all sarcastic about anything ever 0=) He also fumbles trying to pick up Rust. Good job, Leiflet!
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