A Party

[Stevie 1598]

“Aye, ‘ang them there. No, you fool, THERE, not there. Put some... flowahs, on those gallows. Pretty it up. Lock the dungeon doors. Torches everywhere. Move the last of the belongings out from the barracks. Get the tables set up... the /finest/ selection of food! An’ ale! All brews, meads, wines an’ beers, by the barrel...”

The voice trailed off, drowned out by the construction and renovations being made; workers of all sorts shuffled about, converting this stone bastion on the mountain into something entirely different - a palace. A party palace. Renovations would be made for a week before it was deemed ready, and by then the keep, so renowned for its no-entry policy, was about to open its doors for the nobles of Oren.

Invitations are sent out privately by courier, each adorning a simple black and yellow tabard, a black sparrow in its center describing their messages to be from House Chivay, and are sent all throughout both islands of Kalos and Elysium.

With the coming of the day of the party, the hosts make last minute inspections of the party palace, barking an order at a passing servant, and nodding to the various men in red tabards along the several towers of the keep, an ever vigilant and watchful eye, even at times of celebration. The keep is decorated beautifully, a true spectacle and testament to the wealth the Empire has been able to accumulate, even when setback with the arrival of these islands.

The guests soon arrive.

The winding stone stairs up to the keep is lined with streamers of black and yellow, and the tunnel cutting up into the mountain glows with the dim light of redstone torches, giving a calming sense as the cold air of the mountain soon starts to touch the guests’ skin. The iron gates, so long closed and denying any large entry, are open and welcoming. A child with fair blond hair and decorated in a fine black jacket, complemented by a light blue Rose armband, holds a small cane beside him, smiling up to each arriving guest and announcing their title and name to the courtyard. At every arrival, one soldier at the main tower glances down, ensuring the safety of the guests and proving their validity. Down the stairs reveals a beautiful courtyard, clearly renovated and cut out along the mountain, flattening it and placing gardens of primarily roses flanking each side of the battlements. Streamers shoot across overhead, and a wide array of food and drink line one side of the wall; from a local Chivay’s Brew to the fine Auvergnian wine, to legs of mutton and lamb, topped off by whole turkeys, chickens and even duck; and an even greater selection lays in the feasting hall.

 

 

Off to the left lies a more private area, where the old gallows and dungeons had been converted to a secluded man-made grotto, complete with a dug in pool, cold and calming.

 

 

Back around and through the courtyard, you’d find yourself looking up a set of stairs that lead to the main keep, where the throne room and dining hall are located. It is there that the two Chivay hosts sit happily in their thrones, greeting the guests and giving calm gestures of their hands, waving and ordering servants and guards around with an air of unquestioned authority.  At seemingly every corner, a Rose soldier stands at attention, his White Rose tabard cleaned and in pristine condition, each carrying a halberd and arming sword. Stoic and silent, they lower their conical helmets fixed with wreaths of flora and take careful glances about, conversing with a fellow guard, and having their own party, all while keeping their ever watchful eye on the gathering; making sure nothing goes awry. No daring knight would ever penetrate this castle... there aren’t any feminine princes to save, anyway.

 

The stage was properly decorated, and the curtain was unveiled. The party had started, and the play had just begun. It was sure to be a night of entertainment and enjoyment, one that was sorely needed in these times of constant travel, conflict and confusion.




 

[Urahra 5779]

Tanith paces back and forth among the line of bubbling pots and simmering skillets she had laid out along her stove tops in the kitchen. Fragrant, savory smells fill the kitchen - cooking steaks along with the sharp odor of fresh herbs and exotic spices. She lifts the lid of one of the pots, checking its contents and lifting her wooden spoon to her lips to taste. She smacks her lips, eyes narrowing, then picks up her salt shaker and adds a bit more to the pot.

 

Thomas and Peter had spared no expense for the party and that included the food. Tanith, used to cooking somewhat plain meals for a company of soldiers, reveled in playing with all the new, expensive ingredients that the Chivays had bought for her. Freshly caught fish and fine cuts of beef, exotic fruits and vegetables from all over the islands, and the finest herbs and spices, all selected to suit the refined taste buds of the noblemen and women who would be attending. Some of the items were so rare, Tanith hadn't seen them since her days working as a servant in some of the finer noble houses in Asulon. It warmed her heart a bit to see honey melons and starfruits once again.

 

Taking a pot off the stove, she lets out a sigh and wipes her forehead. With all the fires going, the kitchen had grown hot and steamy. She had to tie her long hair back to keep it from getting caught in any of the pots or stove doors. Her long sleeves had to be rolled up to her elbows. Tilting her head back, she looks up toward the ceiling. She could hear faint music coming from the party grounds. Guests would be arriving now. 

[Agnub 605]

"Hurry the nether up, Lynesse!" 

 

Imperial Prince Garth of House Horen-Hightower was sitting in the upholstered Imperial Coach parked at the base of the stairs heading up to the Salvus keep waiting on his overly picky sister. He peaked out the coach window to see where the moon was in the sky to check exactly how late they were going to be. Garth sighed and double checked that everybody in the Hightower entourage - save his slow sister - was seated in the coach. 

 

 

Once his sister was seated and he was sure everybody was in the coach, Garth ordered the driver to depart for the Chivay party. The coach moved through the city on the cobblestone roads with little delay and soon arrived at its destination.

 

 

The royal entourage exited the overly ornate coach and nodded to the Chivay valets who escorted them up the decorated steps. As the entourage entered they waited for the little brat to announce them. Garth stood at the front of the group.

 

[Redbaron™ 690]

Lancel grumbles as he steps out of the coach, his wife linked to his arm he walks up behind Garth.  His Emerald green eyes shift over the scene to see if he knows anyone.  Sighing with disappointment he sees they are one of the first to arrive.

 

"I thought you said we were late Garth... Also is father still hiding on that ship?"

 

After speaking Lancel adjusts his posture to stand more noble and waits for this brat to announce their entry.

 

[Scipp3r 451]

The Duke Lord High Treasurer Patrick Denims-Therving and his cousin board their private coach with their Orcish bodyguard, Grand Sariant Grunt. "Oi! On wit' ye!" The coach driver shouts as he wips the large stallions to pull the coach to the Rose Encampment. Once arrival, a peasant gets on his hind legs bellow the carriage acting as a step as the two old lords unboard the coach. The footman at the gate step aside highering their halberds in honor. Patrick and Throdo smile after being greeted by the two chivay lords and attend begin to chatter with the other guests.

 

[Urahra 5779]

"Dun' be nervous, Lorin. Dun' be nervous, you'll do fine." 
 
Lorin Chivay gazes at herself in her bedroom mirror, her eyebrows furrowed at her reflection. She gently touched her hair. Her long auburn hair, normally tied back with a single ribbon, was today done up in an elaborate braided bun. She'd tucked a few exotic island flowers into her braids, the blooms serving to highlight the rich color of her hair. Lorin takes a deep breath and steps away from the mirror. The dress Thomas had ordered fit like a glove. She'd requested a dress in a glimmering gold brocade - yellow, one of the colors of the Chivay house. While the cut of the dress was perfect and flattered her figure, Lorin had her doubts about the color. It was too vibrant. It made her skin look pale and sallow. Grimacing in frustration, Lorin swiveled back toward the mirror and stared her reflection down. What would the nobles say? Would they notice or care? Lorin took another deep breath.  When she stepped out with Thomas to be introduced, she wanted the nobles to suck in their breath and stand silent in awe of her beauty. She wanted to be the shining star. This party was about her, after all! Would they be startled by the beauty of Thomas, Peter, and Lanon Chivay's young, fresh faced niece? Or would they whisper about how the color of her dress didn't perfectly flatter her skintone? The questions swarmed in Lorin's head like angry bees.
 
"No! I look fine. They'll love me. I look wonderful!" Lorin declared to herself, folding her arms across her chest. She began to pace restlessly across her bedroom floor, her shoes click-clacking on the wood floor. The only Orenian nobles she'd met were the Duchess Valois, Prince Henry Horen, and Princess Lynesse. They hadn't paid much attention to her, mostly overlooking her in favor of her uncle. Now she was going to be introduced to all of Oren's royalty at once. All of their eyes, judging her. Lorin's head swam with nervousness. She loved to go to parties back home, but she'd never been the center of attention at one. She took another deep breath, leaning on the banister to steady herself. Thomas would come get her when he was ready to introduce her to the party. She would walk in holding Thomas's arm. It didn't much matter what the other noblemen thought, did it? As long as Thomas was there, she would be fine. Thomas thought she was beautiful anyway. 
 
Keeping that fact in mind, Lorin managed to smile.

 

((Lorin's dress -

http://www.roxx-online.com/roxxOnline/images/productPhotos/Dark%20blue%20&%20gold%20velvet%20medieval%20hooded%20dress%20%203175.JPG

[Braxis 813]

Uthor sighs as he goes and walks outside he adujusts his suits as  his servant comes around the corner with his horse, the steed still in its cloth and a small amount of chain the servant forgetting to remove it. He smirks "Good it will feel like a proper ride then!" Uthor  then mounts his horse in his suit cussing under his breath muttering "Damned accursed suit... I feel naked without some armor on me... Not even my boot knife is with this!" His mutter turned into a miniature rant as he got onto his horse. He lets one of the house hold servants get the reigns and hand it to him. Uthor simply nodding to the servant as he makes his way toward the property of the manors edge looking behind him as Elene apporches him while she is mounted  on her steed He raises a brow as he speaks "Ready to depart love?" He watches her do a simple nod as he turns his head and leads Elene into the party.

 

 

As they approach the location of the party Uthor still has the thoughts of what is the occasion of the party and more running through his head, He shrugs and goes to dismount his horse offering his hand to Elene helping her off hers. As she dismounted he quickly checks his suit making sure it is fine as he takes her hand and walks up to the enteryway the two showing their invitations now going inside to enjoy the party.

[meg 1994]

 

 

Elene is helped down from her horse by Uthor, she shifts a bit, not entirely used to side-saddles. She straitens out her dress. She fixes Uthor's askew coat, smiling as she takes his hand and enters. Whispering.... "You look wonderful, Love"

 

Elene smiles, waving politely to the Hightowers, and curtsying when she and Uthor approach the Chivays. It was all so different, from any party she had been to in Malinor. Not that they had many parties, no, it was mostly work and bickering. She needed the relaxing change, after all that had been plaguing her mind. 

 

"I must say, the Keep looks fantastic Lord Chivays. I am delighted Uthor and I could make it."

[Jarkarll 314]

Bitr Jotunn, the Gypsy Vanner, trotted along the path. Its hooves softly clonked against the stone with every step it took. His head was held high while it continued its ever elegant trot to its destination, the Chivay party. Its normally freely worn silver hair was tousled under the decorative garb it was adorned with. Fine engraved white roses ran all along the attire, interlacing with the golden trim, all on a field of crimson thread. Bitr looked as elegant as his riders and he meant to match their regality.

Bran ran the smooth of his palm along Bitr’s great neck. He had personally assured Bitr would look just as elegant as he aimed to appear. With the full purpose of arriving to the party dressed for the occasion. Though it wasn’t frugal the thought of appearing as extravagant as the others was a goal he wasn’t about to forsake. Grinning to himself he clicked the stirrup of his saddle against the horse’s ribcage. Hunching forward as he swelled from the swift movement, his coat tousled by the wind. The suit he wore beneath was much alike to the one he wore at Julius's wedding, this one however was burgundy and the buttons brown instead of golden, but the trim was all the same, golden.

Bran looked down briefly, smiling at the sight of Rose's hands intertwined over his belly, her arms wrapped around his waist as she rides with him. She wears an ornate red dress, the bottom carefully tucked underneath her so as not to blow up as the horse sped to their destination. Like Bran's suit, the dress was trimmed with gold. Upon her wrist was a corsage given to her by Bran himself, a golden wire holding together the collection of small flowers and a larger, more elegant white rose. Her hair was up and out of her face, going no farther down than her neck, very much unlike the usual way she kept it so both her eyes were completely unmasked by her long, black locks. Most importantly of all, from her neck hung a precious amulet given to her by her beloved, an intricate platinum knot made in the land Bran was born.

The location of the Chivay Party was in sight now, in a fluid movement the horse came to a slow halt, trotting through the tunnel, the portcullis clambering alive as it rose. Glancing around with a smirk Bran released the reins of the horse, knotting it about a post near the barracks. Loosening the collar of his suit and readjusting the cuffs, he looked up and down himself, patting the rear and prattling on about correcting his attire. He gazes at Rose atop the horse, chortling to himself and aiding her off the horse.

Crooking his arm as she laces her own through he remarks. “The party is jus’ up there,” gesturing toward the grandiose keep at the apex of the mountain.

Finally at the top the couple proceeded inside to greet all the others.

[Sargeblub 78]

Lanon Chivay sits in a wooden chair to the right of Thomas and Peter's thrones. He rests one hand on his thigh and the other holds a glass of wine, occasionally sipping from it as he watches the party proceed before him. He looks over his left shoulder, nodding to Thomas and Peter as he gets up from his seat and sets his glass down behind him. His left hand rests on the hilt of his bastard sword so that it doesn't move while he strides. The pommel of the sword has a sparrow upon it, holding a rose in it's beak. The scabbard is black, the ends molded from gold and intricately decorated. Upon the black field of the scabbard, the Chivay crest sits; a yellow shield with two sparrows upon it. He walks around the room, nodding to some guests, bowing to others. He stops at a few groups to chat with them, but he mostly remains silent and continues to circulate around the room. He runs both of his hands down his chest, smoothing out his yellow vest. His hands move to the the Sparrow pendant that rests at the center of his chest. He feels the texture of the jewels that adorn the pendant, then adjusts it and returns his hands to his sides. His vest nearly glows against his darkly colored pants and undershirt, displaying the Chivay colors proudly. He stretches his neck, moving the high collar that reaches nearly to his jaw and stops himself so he can smile at a Noble lass that stands across from him. He steps forward, his boots clicking against the floor crisply as he moves to talk to the lady.

 

Lanon's outfit, though the pendant should be a Sparrow, the vest should be yellow, and he should have a bit more facial hair.

[Sargeblub 78]

((Accidental double post, might as well and make it useful. Here's what Lanon's scabbard would look like:

http://www.heavenlyswords.com/images/P/SW677-01.jpg

[ACanadianCraft (Nate) 682]

Jullius, unfortunately having preceded the rest of the Valois entourage in his arrival, wanders around in a flurry of confusion. Conflicting thoughts careen around his head as to what he should be up to. On one hand he was a member of the Great House Amedaius, and had recently married Isabella of the Great House Valois. On the other hand, he was also, and primarily, a Man-At-Arms of The White Rose. Continuing to flit around aimlessly, he wonders whether or not he should be taking part in the festivities as a noble or as a soldier. The line between the two is a precarious one which he walked almost daily, and had still yet to fall onto one side or another. Nevertheless he was present, for better or for worse. In Jullius' case unfortunately, it was usually always for the worse.

Jullius finally submitted himself to the notion  that he will either be welcomed as a noble, or grumbled at by Thomas for being out of uniform. A compromise had formed in his mind that if he positioned himself behind Henry or Chrestienne with a drink in his hand, he might be alright. But before any of that...

"I've got to find Hadrien. He'll know what to do for sure..."

[cruzazul 2815]

Chrestienne trots up to the manor on her large white stallion, Serene, a small saddle depicting the Valois colors hangs loosely on her back.

 

As she steps off the horse into the manor, taking a brief moment to look it over, nodding happily at the well designed decor, something rarely seen by her own eyes outside of her manor. While she elegantly makes her way to the party room, stopping to talk to a few commoners before hand she steps up next to Jullius, remaining quiet, hoping her sees her.

[Warwick 12]

Aureas runs a hand through his white-blonde hair, feeling overexposed without his characteristic mask and hood. He briefly studies his own clothing, a black suit with an armband indicating his membership in the White Rose, before returning his attention to the partying crowd. The noise of the gathering swells slowly as more and more guests arrive, slowly beginning to drown out individual conversations. Moving easily through the crowds, he strains to pick up individual conversations and snippets of useful information. Nobody gave out details quite like a drunken noble.

[Leric 1097]

 Leric runs a hand over his hair, repositioning it so it gives a faint curve over the small widows peak on his forehead. Wearing the formal black clothing with the White rose armband, he quickly straightens the coat and looks himself over before heading towards the entrance. He nods to the Rose guards at the entrance, smiling at the fact that their tabard is clean and not bloodied. Upon entrance of the keep he look around at the guests, towering over most of them and noting only a few who stand near his height. He smiles at the great decorations of the party and quickly withdraws a flask of cider from a pocket within his coat, he takes a long drink from it before capping it and hiding it away in his coat again. Finding not much to do at the beginning of the party, he moves to nearby wall and leans against it, watching as the guests begin to pool in.