A Party

[Raptorious 1899]

Lord Maric Varodir thunders down the road, his thick and heavy bear fur coat billowing in the wind, the muscles of his grey horse rippling with every step. Kicking up clouds of dust with every movement the horse and it's rider finally arrive at the old White Rose fortress on Elysium. The thundering of hooves quietens and the pace slows to a jog, still hurrying around the small buildings and structures down by the beach. The horse sway left and right with the pull of the reins as Maric directs the stallion around the maze of structures.

 

 

As he reaches the steps that climb to the keep itself, he quickly dismounts and ties his horse on the familiar wooden pole in the ground. He readjust's his coat, sorts out his hair a little and grabs his cane from the small pouch attatched to the saddle. Looking around, Maric notices the absence of people and servants and suddenly realises how late he truly is. As soon as this realisation takes hold, he grabs his cane from the middle and begins to launch himself up the stairs, taking two at a time all the way to the top.

 

Once he reaches the top, Maric continues his pace and briskly walks to the entrance of the keep, removing his large fur coat and throwing it at a near by servant, almost enveloping them. He dusts off the shoulders of his new vestmants, specially made for the party.

 

 

The muffled but unmistakeable voice of Thomas can be heard from behind the door and it grows louder as Maric slowly and quietly creaks it open, slipping inside just in time. He takes a quick scan around the room, mostly for anyone familiar to him.

[Leric 1097]

Smiles, seeing a servant come up to him and gesture the platter of watermelon things to him. He looks at it, knowing something like that is most likely Taniths creation and her food was always satisfying. He reaches up, taking one and swiftly devouring it in a bite. Some sugar trailing around on his lips, he quickly wipes it off and quickly looks around to see if anybody noticed it. He shrugs, hoping that nobody did. Looks at one of the trays passing by him with distaste, slightly sad there was no cider being supplied. Sighs, seeing wine is the closest which he knew was nowhere close to the wonderful tastes of cider. Seeing no other choice he takes a goblet of wine from one of the passing servants and slowly sipping it, nodding at the taste and mumbling to himself. "Maybeh eh could get used to this stuff." he says before quickly taking another few sips and walking back to the dimly lit side of the party. He sighs, hoping everything goes smoothly after having to kick out the couple, quickly taking in another sip of wine and continuing to watch the oncoming guests.

[Knightei 318]

Borric Tyrus frowns as he sees the note from his Cousin, telling him to attend this 'Party'. Borric didn't do Parties. The two black brows furrow again as he re-reads the letter, then decides he should attend. For his cousins sake.
As Borric rises and steps to the door to his room, he pauses. He can't attend in his plate armour... He looks to what he owns, and the pitiful array of clothing comes apparent, so the black plate slowly comes off of Borric, as he searches for something more formal.

As Borric approaches the keep, he looks down to his mud-spattered boots, 'Why Walk when I can ride?' came the thought, but immediately it is answered by the stubborn side of him 'I always walk'. He shakes his head, and carries on to the keep, adorned in a simple black tunic, coupled with black trousers, cause him to look like he's attending a wedding. However, the leather vest over the tunic is the main cause of worry for his dress sense, but he couldn't leave without some form of armour, could he?

He steps the last few yards to the keep, his bastard sword at his side, and passes the servants and heralds, being overshadowed by the more flamboyantly dressed Nobles. He pauses in front of the door and quickly runs some fingers through his beard, untangling slightly.

Borric presses on the door and slips inside, making a beeline to where ever has ale, ignoring the looks of the others around.

[Cosmik 220]

     Liam gives the silver goblet he holds a swirl, nodding in Lorin's direction with a small smile. Whoever created her dress had excellent taste in designs... though he never was a massive fan of cross imagery (namely because crosses were more of a torture device than a lovely symbol, in his opinion). Nonetheless, her presence lights up the room. Several of the guests move about so as to meet the lovely young woman, while some remain seated by their tables to continue conversation.

 

 

     He slowly scans about the room to find someone he might converse with. Locating Uncle Hadrien on the other side of the dining hall, he disposes of his goblet via a servant and slowly makes his way through the guests to greet his kinsman.

[Urahra 5779]

"Mrs. Toov, we're short staffed."

 

Tanith turned to look at the servant who addressed her. She frowned, tilting her head. "Short staffed?" she repeated curiously, rubbing her neck. "That can't be right. We started the evening with a full compliment. Did one of the boys wander off?" Platters full of luxuriant dishes cluttered the kitchen counter tops and stove tops. Tanith had to pause to smile at the buffet arranged and ready to be served. The dinner portion of the party would be splendid - truly, some of her best work. Several plump ducks cooked until their skin crisped, spiced with fragrant herbs, plates of beautifully cut and arranged fruits and vegetables, platters of stuffing, as well as dishes of sweetmeats, baskets of freshly baked rolls, and trays piled high with fruit filled pastries and cookies - all glazed and iced to perfection. The feast was nearly completely and they would need all hands on staff to properly serve it. She turned back to the young servant speaking to her. "I suppose one of the servants decided to quit early."

 

"I found him sneaking wine in the back, madame. We decide it was best to take him off duty," the servant replied. Tanith sighed.

 

"I suppose you're right...but what are we going to do without a hand to serve dinner? It's already a lot to manage with the current staff." Tanith turns, looking over the plates. "Ah, well, the cooking is almost done. All that's left is to serve it once everyone sits down for dinner. I suppose I could lend a hand." Smiling, Tanith strolled to the side table and picked up a fresh platter of hors d'ouevres. 

 

"Are you sure, madame? I'm certain the wait staff can handle it."

 

"It's no trouble." With a smile, Tanith rolled down her sleeves and arranged her hair. Balancing the platter carefully on one arm, she ascended the stairs to the main area. Looking through the doors, she spotted Lorin and her uncle before the dais. Tanith paused, taking in the sight as Thomas kissed his niece's hand and allowed her to step up onto the dais by herself. Tanith smiled to herself at the sight. Two Chivays of different generations, but still a lovely duo.

[Supremacy 3361]

Kalenz walks swiftly through the streets of Oren hours after the party had started, a single thought running through his mind; that he was late. Of course it is evident that someone always has to be late, unfortunately for an illusionist to be late is a tragedy. Lateness attracts attention, more often than not unwanted attention. Especially if said illusionist was attempting to make an entry in some form which was not his own. Kalenz twitches in irritation. Had he not been delayed by Lucion's nonsensical antics and the random gifts he had adressed to Azorella from Kalenz perhaps he could have slipped in as someone's servant, squire or whatever those strange valah called their underlings.

 

Kalenz pauses fifty meters from the venue of the party and scowls, regarding it cautiously while remaining half hidden behind a building. An opportunity squandered and the time it took to travel to Oren wasted. He was not to enter this party this night, his intended plans for unfortunate occurrences including copious amounts of food 'accidentally' spilt on Mrs. Elene Silverblade canceled.

 

Kalenz turns on his heel immediately and begins on his return back to the city of the high elves, he mutters to himself two distinct words: "Stupid valah."

[Esterlen 4499]

Turning his head clockwise, Hadrien spots Lord Maric enter the party and without warning begins to lope towards him, brushing past the crowd, giving a polite apology every time a noble gave him a sour look. He seemed unfortunately oblivious to his nephew's presence.

 

He was closer now and clapped his hands together once, barely audible. A wide smile grew across his face, his ornate raiment causing him to appear quite the jubilant man indeed. Still walking towards Varodir, he begins to speak.

 

"Baron Maric Varodir the Pious! You've no idea how glad I am to see you here, my friend!"

 

He claps him on the shoulder firmly before extending his hand for Maric to shake.

[wealthypiano 394]

An about average figure squatted beside the inclined carriage. The carriage, inclined by the newly broken wheel, had held 5 men, 4 of which were armed, and wore large red tabbards with swords at their sides. The 4 stood behind the squatting figure, almost as clueless as he. There were 3 humans, 1 dwarf, but their races didn’t make the difference. Were you to have stood that dwarf up among any other he’d be a bit taller than them, but again, it didn’t matter to the situation at hand.

 

The squatting man was Arjen de Sarkozy, and he was very late. The men were the house de Sarkozy guards, loyal men, though they were nothing elite and would most likely be referred to as guards before soldiers for a reason. Arjen had a sword of his own, though, at the moment he was nothing special with it, only receiving the training he was with it for the very case of a noble show. He looked like such a lacking man if he carried around the large polearm styled axe, the hammer on the back and some sort of weapon on all sides of it would be both unsavory and threatening; something Arjen was only when he wanted to be.

 

This was quite the dilemma for him, the wheel, split in two when the carriage had bumped off of the road and the added weight of the armored men too much for the already both somewhat small and old carriage as the distance of about one foot had taken of the weight in the fall to crack it. His brother and uncle had both gone ahead before him, Arjen stayed back for a bit to make the men disciplined enough for a small show as they entered, or so was Arjen’s plan. He hadn’t informed his uncle, and he doubted the decision with every step he took. Now he outright knew it would not work.

 

Arjen was no fan of wearing armor, though he was no fan of wearing this upper-class wear either. He found it tight and somewhat uncomfortable, albeit not heavy as his armor was. He had nothing to hide old wounds though, and nothing to provide hiding for his lengthening, greasy hair, or his mildly disproportional face.

 

He gave a quick motion to the Dwarf, showing him to the cart entrance before giving a very quick briefing. “Find the spare wheel in the back, and hurry, I worry for this cart’s true stability.” They both nodded, the dwarf scrambling his way backwards as he gathered the other men around. “You can lift this, correct?” Arjen motioned to the carriage behind him, the men all pacing their gaze back and forth each other before Geldion finally stopped at Arjen, quickly nodding once. The dwarf finally clambered his way, having to turn back around to twist the wheel out.

 

The man gathered around the carriage, forming a small perimeter as they leaned down, gripping the bottom of the carriage as they prepared to lift. Arjen went to a knee as he prepared the wheel. “Ready?” “Ready, sir!” “Go!”. The men lifted, bringing the carriage up enough, almost to fit the wheel, but not quite. Arjen begin squeezing the wheel in, using the leverage of the small wooden form to bring up the carriage to now hold the wheel, to nothing kept it in place for now.

 

“Ready the horses, bring me nails!” The men ran around now, somewhat frantic as they gathered the nails and followed the orders. A small number of nails and a hammer were given to Arjen as he fixed the wheel, before giving a quick nod to Geldion. “Finish tying the beasts up, this will hold till our arrival.” Geldion gave a quick nod, looking around at the other men as he nodded to them as well, all falling into a position. One of the humans gathered onto the front, taking the reigns in hand as he flicked his wrist, the others in the carriage jolting as they began moving.

 

***

The large carriage rolled in front of the gate. It appeared lopsided and awkward; the wheel’s temporary bounds were falling apart. Several of the men quickly filed out, glancing around to make sure they were all there, each giving a small stretch simultaneously. Finally, Arjen clambered out, shielding his face with his hand as he glanced about the seemingly extremely bright outside. 

 

The ride was boring. The men were quiet for the most part, and there was a feeling of disappointment lingering. No disappointment in a single man, nor in a single being. It was a mutual disappointment. Disappointment in possible work gone to waste so suddenly. Each man had their own interpretation of it being fate or not. For the most part, the men had learned quite differently. Geldion, not even haven been raised as a child of the creator, was still forming his religious thoughts, with the assistance of Arjen and the others. The others, still were raised differently. They all had their own determined idea of why it had happened, and they’d all stayed silent on the subject.

 

Arjen clasped his hand together, looking up to the gateman, Temp. “Good morn, Thersist! I apologize for our rather late timing! You see, our transportation...well, malfunctioned. I suggest you may use my men for a few miscellaneous things, wether it be short escorts or whatever.” The growling of a stomach created a light noise among the men, they had expected they’d eaten by now, and they were long delayed. The markings of Peter’s patrol had already come through. They couldn’t have been much later than 15 or 20 minutes, though it was still quite noticeable to them. The men’s thoughts rang with appreciation for the early departure from training, whilst waiting for the Decurion’s answer.

 

Temp, being the fairly quiet man he is, tugged the lever, allowing the gate to slide open. Arjen and the men strolled in. Arjen motioned his men on, turning to face upwards to Thersist. “Tell your best performing men they’ll be relieved soon. My men have been too long since their last meal, and some explaining to do as well.” The two nodded to each other, allowing Arjen to turn and continue on his way.

 

Upon entering the hall, Arjen quickly moved to his men, all of which were moving and shifting uncomfortably. They were an elephant in the room. Not dressed as the Rosemen were. They wore a much more average tabbard, and only the White Eagle laid across the chest may have seemed above average to someone. They did not stand guard anywhere specific, rather, they lingered and waddled in a small little space, making sure not leave an imaginary  circle on the ground. Out of all the men, Geldion seemed the most in tune. He stood much prouder, and his arms were clasped together behind his back.

 

Arjen nodded to each, quickly motioning them on, catching many of the servants to be staring too long, or the Rose guards stifling a chuckle; nothing but elitist men to Arjen. Such a strange thought, it was, though, as Arjen was one of those men himself. He was just better than them. Someone who respected all men who served Oren. As long as they were not Adunian, of course.

 

He started down the hall with the men, walking with a larger bounce in his step as he walks with his men, feeling some self-pride in his achievements. Upon entering the dining hall, they moved to the same table together. A small circular setup off to the side. It had 6 chairs. One too many. Arjen ignored this, not having much need for his own perfection in his current state of being. He was both hungry, and thirsty. Largely so in each category.

 

As they all took a seat, Arjen waved his hand up, motioning one of the scarce servants over. The small man leaned in, taking the order. “Five Leevuardens, and extra food when the time comes.” The man double-taked before nodding once. Surely he would not simply give them extra food, no, it was certain he’d ask someone first. It’d go up the line and Arjen would possibly have to explain the situation to a superior. The men sat there waiting now, both for food, and extra company. None of them daring to say a thing to each other.

[meg 1994]

Elene stood, swishing the wine in her glass around casually, as Lorin was introduced. Elene smiled politely, yet a closer look at her face would reveal something between apathy and contemptuousness. She didn't hate Lorin, she barely even knew her, no, it was more a feeling of pity, perhaps, maybe even jealousy. It was a pity, in fact, that such a young an innocent woman had to be allowed into this world. It would ruin her, no doubt, maybe even like it ruined Elene. Or Lord Chivay and the Roses would shield her, either way, it wouldn't be sunshine and rainbows.

 

Elene chuckled at the thought, When was life ever sunshine and rainbows? Maybe, back in Aegis with her mother, but the Undead made quick work of that. Elene looked up to Uthor, stoic as usual, and realized maybe now wasn't the best time to think about these things. It was a party, and Elene had hoped it would take her mind off things. Taking her mind off politics, and racist high elves, and racist high elf illusionists. She turns back to Lorin, this time smiling a little more genuinely. Mumbling....

 

"One can only hope...."

[Urahra 5779]

In the corner by the door, a young bard began to strum on his lute, filling the air with a lively and cheerful tune.

 

 

 

The floor clears as the young men and women in attendance prepare to dance.

[Braxis 813]

Uthor takes a glance at Elene seeing there is something amiss in her face. He simply sighs pondering what is plaguing Elene's mind now. As his pondering thought trails off he takes a glance around the room. Taking in the faces he sees and the ones he knows and the ones he has never seen before the thoughts of how big the empire truly is runs into his mind  he simply grunts dismissing the thoughts not wanting to think of work on this time to have fun and enjoy ones self's  As he sees Peter he shoots him a quick glance a work thought once more running into his mind the words in his mind saying "Where are those damned reports Peter..." He shakes his head yet again clearing the thought out of his head and attempts to keep all work thoughts out of his head.

 

He smirks as he hears the bards tunes play taking another glance around the room as he goes to look down at Elene with a raised brow asking a question "What shall we do as the party still comes to start?"

[Cracker 4570]

"Brother, why do you sleep now?"

 

Diedrik Barrow found himself snickering at the plight of his poor brother. Oversleeping as the party of Elysium raged on, what a shame! It was lucky the Lord Carrion had a bastard Barrow to keep him in check, thought the young Barrow. Siegmund Carrion was shook awake; as his eyes fluttered open he emitted faint groans of resistance, meeting with the playful expression of his half-brother.

 

"I nap. Is problem to you, Barrow?"

"No problem to me, mi'lord, but perhaps your presence would be appreciated by the fine folk of House Chivay."

 

Siegmund batted the sleep from his eyes before jumping out of his bed in a haste. Quickly washing his face, the late Carrion quickly put on the cleanest set of robes available, a black monotone outfit which contrasted with his pale expression and his green eyes. Managing to slick his hair back in the most presentable a man could within a few precious minutes, Siegmund dashed out to his steed, a somber black stallion. Whistling to Diedrik, he mentioned to the bastard that the other men of Carrion were invited as well, and he gave Diedrik duty to lead them to the party. Siegmund didn't forget his request though; a fine bottle of Carrion black was to be brought. It was only tradition to gift as a Carrion.

 

The physical ride to the Rose fort was quick and painless, but the thoughts racing through Siegmund's head had made the journey all the more convoluted. This was the first true gathering of nobles among Oren which Siegmund would be present; being a second son not assumed to inherit the lordship of Carrion, he wasn't designated to approach court politics with smoothness or a particular grace. But nonetheless, summoning strength and enjoying the plunge into an abyss of confusion and despair, Siegmund found himself at the White Rose Fort.

 

He had to haggle with Temp at the entrance, but the guardsman quickly let him after Siegmund unveiled a personal invitation from the Grand Marshal himself. Stumbling into the party, Siegmund scans about. A sea of new faces washes over to Siegmund, and he is left aghast in awe at the size of the formidable force of Oren nobility. Music began to play from the lutes of bards, leaving Siegmund feeling out of his element. Casting doubt at the idea of coming to a party of such grandeur as a petty Baron, he looks around for a friend, anyone, to quell his apprehension. To his fortune, Thomas Chivay was in sight. Stumbling forward in a haggard manner, Siegmund approached his acquaintance with a somber expression.

 

"I brought drink." 

[Raptorious 1899]

Maric looks over, seeing his good friend Hadrien squeeze past all the party-goers, he lets out a smile. His smile grows as Hadrien claps him on the shoulder and extends his hand. Maric moves his cane to his left hand and with his right clasps Hadrien's hand firmly and gives him a slight nod,

 

"Same to you Lord Hadrien. Maker knows how I loathe these gatherings." Maric chuckles lightly and lets go of Hadrien's hand.  Takes another quick scan around the room, hopefully searching for the High Pontiff, though knowing the chances of him being at such an event are slim. He turns back to Hadrien, his smile weakened by the disappointment of not spotting Lucien.

 

"Bah, I sound like an old man. How have you been, kinsman? It's been a while since we've last seen each other."

 

 

[Esterlen 4499]

Hadrien gives a strong smile, and runs a hand through his own dark hair.

 

"I've been most well indeed, cousin. The Baron de Sarkozy's 'Great Matter' still continues, however, and we are no closer to solving it than we were when we begun, if you know what I mean." He chuckles. "And yes, it has been rather long indeed since we last convened."

 

Sarkozy leans in closer to Maric, the smile still upon his face.

 

 

"High society has its perks and its disadvantages. I do not blame you, in all honesty, for such loathing. I could not help but notice my liege has invited that liberty monarch Prince Lancel...we should meet more often. And the Grand Marshal's niece! I swear, Maric, women are the root of all evil."

 

Folding his arms across his chest neatly, he looks across the venue for his nephew Liam, who he believed was attending the party. He gives a solemn nod of acknowledgement to Varodir.

 

"I put into play the necessary events to invite His Holiness to this evening's merriment, however he does not seem to be in attendance, regrettably."

[Stevie 1598]

Thomas sways his hips a bit, looking down to Siegmund from the raised dais. A large grin creases his face as he claps his hands together inaudibly, stepping down to meet him at eye level, chuckling with joy.

 

"Ah! 'ouse Carrion finally arrives! An' wiff their renowned drink, I can see! Excellent, excellent. Go find Tanith - the Dark Elf who should be around wiff a servin' tray. She'd be glad to take that from ye an' serve it at dinnah, which is soon to start. I 'ope ye all came wiff an appetite fer more... lavish foods."

 

He grins widely, patting Siegmund hard on his shoulder, giving a brief nod of farewell as he moves to step back towards Lorin, his smile almost permanently plastered on his face, "Excuse me fer a bit, Lorin. I'm goin' to find a lovely lady to dance wiff." 

 

He winks to her a moment, spinning about on a heel and striding down from the dais, avoiding the cleared space where many guests have already paired up and began their festive dancing. He maneuvers through the onlooking crowd and cliques, searching for her once again. He hadn't seen her much throughout the party, and he was beginning to wonder, even worry. Meandering about the crowds, he spots no flicker of red hair, and a feeling of discouragement comes over him, the plastered smile fading from the corners of his mouth. And just as his confidence faded, it just as suddenly struck back up again as he caught the flicker of red through a passing guest, his jacket and breeches much too extravagant to be comfortable, he thought. The flicker of hair flashed again as the guest passed fully now, and there revealed the Princess Lynesse, sitting in a chair off to the side with her brother. Thomas set his eyes to her, almost starstruck at his distant view of her, appreciating the beauty and sheer stunning appearance the Princess showed; and it was not the first time the bearded Marshal froze up in this shock. He did it many times in her presence, and the flutter of butterflies constantly swam around his stomach each time she smiled, each time she laughed. He set his feet to purpose, swerving in and out of guests and servants, finally approaching the small Hightower entourage, smiling with a warm radiance as he nods to each of them.

 

"Hullo to all of ye. I 'ope the Hightowahs are enjoyin' the festivities an' entertainment. It's no royal ball, I can assure you, but I 'ope the Imperial Family will take themselves to enjoyin' themselves wiff wot we 'ave offered 'ere tonight. From drinks to appetizers, an' our fine dancin'..."

 

He trails off a moment, turning to focus on Lynesse now, giving a slow bow of his head, "To which I'd like to ask for the lovely Lady Lynesse's hand for a dance, if she would allow it." Leaning forward he takes her hand gently, bringing it up to his lips and giving a soft kiss, smiling warmly as he awaits her reply.