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Author Topic: Nermeran Embassy  (Read 12463 times)
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Ylva Rasmussan
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« on: February 01, 2010, 07:36:17 PM »

The Embassy of Nermeran




A bastion representing northern interests in the capital, with political intrigue and conspiracies hiding in dark corners, and the shifting loyalties and feuding sides of the upper classes, the Embassy of Nermeran is not a simple place to work.

Not with old soldiers with old secrets, poisoned masks and brawling masquerades, drunks and spies, the mystery of the 31st man, and a murderer calling himself 'the Boatman' seeking the pain of his enemies. The shadows are coming out to play....







Prologue

Happy Jack...


Date: 24th Singing Bird.


Ah, New Santhala, city of kings, well technically, one king, but this tale does not really concern him anyway. This tale is the tale of Mister Oz Jackstrum, currently the happiest man in the capital. And yes, he had just been kicked out the Courtyard again for unruly behaviour towards other customers. But Oz was sure that Nahrvil would let him back in, in an hour or so maybe. Till then he just had to wait, be patient and stay out of trouble.

Oz got into trouble all the time, but he blamed this fact on the society he lived in. How could any man stay sober and orderly when taverns lined the streets of this sweet city? The nasty mixture of stingo and scumble slid happily down into his tummy to battle it out within his guts. It was this same deadly combination that then, moments later, appeared on the cobbles. But this didn’t put him off his happiness either.

No, this was a beautiful night; the moon was shining, glistening against the cobblestones; though these were rather marred by Mr Jackstrum’s own contribution to the romantic scene. Being sick,, sadly, has never been thought romantic. But this didn’t put Oz off, no, he was going to pull himself up and enjoy this night! He was going to live in the moment, be grateful for what he had, and do anything else that you have to do in order to be happy. Pick flowers, dance with women, have sex. That sort of thing.


“Right, Jackstrum,”
The joy-incarnate chirruped drunkenly to himself, “Let’s try to keep it in next time, not good for your rep, not at all....Now where next?...The river! Nice place to take a piss if you pardon me language ladies and gentlemen...”

The rotund man waddled down towards the river, singing bits of songs stuck together,
“There’s none like Rover Nan!....I was just a lil’ boy...big carriage bed...”

“Some with bald heads...”

Jackstrum had reached the river, and was busily battling with his belt buckle...

"dwarf ale and whisk-way..."

Snap.

Oz’s head shot up, staring out into the hallow dark that surrounded him. Even in his muddled state he knew that he’d heard a sound.  The riverside docks were a rather dangerous place to be. Remembering this fact, suddenly Mr Jackstrum felt a lot more sober.  He did what any ordinary soul does in this situation, “Hello?...Hellooo!?”

Silence.

Oz huffed at his own silly imagination and got back to trying to unfasten his belt buckle, putting all paranoid notions of murderers and villains out his mind.

Thus, he didn't like it when the darkness behind him started to talk, “Hello, sorry I-“
“-Ahhh! Demon! Thief! Pirate! Blooming Rover  Nancy! What in the gods!” With surprising agility Jackstrum sprang round to see a well-dressed man sitting on a cargo box. “What the hell?!” Oz took a few steps back, getting dangerously closer to the edge of the dock. “Don’t kill me! I’ve got no bloody money me!  I’ve got nothing, leave me be if you have any mercy-“
“-As I said I was going to say.” The figure spoke firmly. “I’m sorry, for surprising you. I was sitting here in quiet study and self thought. Then you just walk up, smelling of rotten fruit, and, frankly, I didn’t want to have to witness you urinate.”

The man got up from his box and walked out the dark shadow he’d been hiding in, into the moonlight. Able to see his appearance, Jackstrum realised that he wasn’t a murderer or a mugger.

He looked friendly, neat and kind. The man wore a neat navy uniform, perhaps from the military or government. A handsome smile greeted him. He didn’t look too old, at the most in his late twenties. Vivid short red curls framed a pale face with sharp cheekbones and pale blue eyes. The palest blue Oz had ever seen, in the moonlight they almost shone. Yet it was as if Oz had seen them before....his brain was still fuzzy, his memory not currently accessible, yet he would was sure he’d seen eyes like those before.

Oz studied him, trying to rack his memory, as the man slowly went and sat down at the edge of the dock, his feet dangling over the side. The way he walked, the way he held himself, the stranger seemed so familiar. “Sorry to disturb you, I just like to come here to think sometimes. About the meaning of life, happiness, that sort of thing.”

Oz snorted to himself and haphazardly managed to plonk himself down next to his new friend. What happy drunken night wasn’t filled with the attempted discussion of serious things? In this happy mood, Oz felt he could answer any problem eloquently. “....Meaning of life?! Utter bullocks. What’s that got to do with living? You’re problem son, is that you’ve been doing too much thinking, not enough bloody living. Leave this ‘meaning of life’ shite to the gods. Living’ll honour them better.”

“....You know you are probably Santharia’s greatest philosopher.” The young man chuckled, “It’s very sad that you’re also its least known and least sober one.” This seemed to cause him to laugh hysterically. Maybe he too was drunk. Or mad. Or a bit of both. His laugh was also familiar to Oz, but he still couldn’t place it...something to do with the Heaths of Jervais, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why.

The red haired man suddenly stopped laughing, and whispered, “A man is dead,”

"It's now been nearly two months, his name was Arnurd Fruwee, Ambassador of Vardynn. I work at one of the embassies, I was acquaintances with him. Do you know what his last words were? He said he’d come back as a cat. Imagine, of all the dramatic statements he could have spoken, those were his last words.”

“Well, at least its original, most famous people say something poncy and swarmy.”

“Do you believe he was happy when he died?”


“Oh. Well...it depends. Speaking as an expert, Happiness, is a very complicated business. Money does not equal happi-”
“- but poverty doesn’t equal happiness either....-”
“-Oi! I’m talking. Now, take me for example, today I lost my job as equerry for mi’lord, something about letting the kids stroke the horses...” Jackstrum’s flabby face fell slightly as he remembered. “Now, you’d think that’d make me sad. But no!” He pointed a stubby finger determinedly into the air, as if angry at the gods themselves. “You see! I’m not letting it get to me!”

The young man wasn’t listening to Oz’s drunken speech. Instead he appeared to be thinking to himself, his glassy pale eyes staring up at the moon.

 “I’ve killed people.”

Jackstrum froze, confused and slightly worried that perhaps he actually was sitting next to a crazy murderer. You can’t really reply to a statement like that.

The red haired man stayed silent for a while, then suddenly carried on his whispered confession, “I was a soldier once. I thought I could be heroic, I joined up, to fight the orcs up north, became a squire in the Order-”

Something in Oz’s mind clicked, “Armeros's teeth...you’re Herrick Quinn’s boy, aren’t you?”

Herrick’s son turned and gazed at Oz. He looked surprised, as if scared by Jackstrum’s revelation. “How do you know that?”


“I worked for your father before he died, looking after his horses on his estate in the Heaths of Jervais.”
Grinning, he held out a sweaty hand. “My name’s Oz Jackstrum.”

The young man turned pale as he shook his hand, “I remember you...“

Oz grinned, hugging him wholeheartedly; the redhead flinched as he was forced to smell the rotten apple smell up close. “Can’t believe it, what a thing! For us to run into each other like this, bloody hell, must be Seyella’s doing! You look just like your dad, just like him! Same eyes! You act like him too, it’s almost spooky! You didn’t use to act like him! I’m sure you’ve changed your hair...How is everyone? Is Sandie still housekeeper? She had a soft spot for me...”

“I haven’t been back to my father’s estate in nine years.”


The old horse master frowned, “Nine years?!...Well what about the others, Horatio Lovett? He drove the carriage for your father... Guy Grissom? He used to help out in the stables...shovelling shit... those were the days...the estate was like a community, your Lord would look after you, not like this new nobles who don’t-”

Sploosh.

Oz hit the dark water hard.

The round man floundered in the deep water, “Quinn! I can’t swim!” He struggled as salty water ran down into his lungs, confused as to why the red haired man just watched him with watery eyes and a blank frozen expression on his face. With widening eyes, Jackstrum watched as a heavy cargo box followed down after him.

Guillemot Quinn straightened his uniform, keen steely eyes scanning the area for signs of life. Not even the shadows dared move. Certain that he was safe, he left, hoping that the splash marks on his clothes would dry on the walk home.

His wife would hopefully have gone to bed. He’d sleep in the spare room. Tomorrow he'd ask the gardener to pick some flowers; he'd send them as condolences to the Fruwee family.

The body would probably be found the next day, but they would just think it was another drunken man who accidently fell into the water.

Poor happy Oz Jackstrum just disappeared from the world.

« Last Edit: March 02, 2010, 06:03:03 AM by Ylva Rasmussan » Logged
Ylva Rasmussan
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« Reply #1 on: February 03, 2010, 02:50:24 PM »

Chapter One

Invitations and Condolences

Date: 25th Singing Bird.


Morning broke and the city woke to a new day, same as the day before. The city guard pulled a body out the water. A local tradesman identified the man as Oz Jackstrum the horse master, he was just an ordinary man, who had lost his job, drank too much and fell in the river. The capital did not stop for the death of one man who was of little consequence to the world. No one wondered how a drunk could ever have pushed such a heavy cargo box down with them as they fell…..

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a small office of the Nermeran Embassy, Guillemot Quinn sat and stared at the blank scroll in front of him. He paused for a moment, dipped his quill in his ink pot and elegantly wrote a few sympathetic lines,

To my new colleague and friend,

Urg. Far too personal a writing style. He crossed it out and started again on a new page,

To his Lordship, Kembar Fruwee,

I send my sincerest condolences to you and your family on your loss. Your uncle was a worthy ally and a true friend. Too few possess just a small amount of his good sense, judgment, and dignity.

Yours sincerely,

In one careful motion he forged his boss’ signature.

Belenos Tristram
 
Ambassador Belenos Tristram was sadly the human equivalent of a battering ram, this was good for laying waste to orcs, but not so suitable for Tristram’s current position. Thus, Guillemot Quinn, the Nermeran embassy’s Castellan, was often required to become extra diplomatic on his employer’s behalf. The Ambassador had ordered the arrest of his last personal secretary, thus Guillemot was also filling in that role as well till an adequate candidate was found.

Most in his situation would long for more ambitious options, perhaps even dreaming of being ambassador themselves. Yet the current castellan wished to go no further. Being behind the throne seemed to hold much more opportunities for influence than one would think. It meant that he could write this letter to the new Vardynn Ambassador and express his own views of the deceased, instead of his employer’s opinion, which had been expressed with the words, “About bloody time!”

Quinn finished the letter and started flicking through a few trade negotiation reports. Most people found this kind of work boring, but Guil relished it. It took his mind off other things. He settled down to read a report on the Stormcloaks Guild, and, without looking up, spoke to the figure sneaking up behind him, “Hello Dorian.”

The man named Dorian grumbled, “Gods damn it, Guil how’d you know it was me…”

“You sneaked in through the window, letting in a draught. The room felt slightly colder….sorry but can you take off your shoes? The maids keep complaining about the amount of mud on the carpet….”

The skinny man snarled slightly, but proceeded to take off his cheap worn leather boots before sliding lazily down into the soft chair across from Quinn. “I talked to one of the healers themselves, he says that its unlikely that Old Fruwee’s death was murder. “

Dorian Noone was what the embassy termed a ‘diplomacy and information envoy’. The former criminal had been a terrible thief and an even worse assassin. However what Mr Noone did have was a talent for watching people, and this is what he did for a living. He followed nobles and guards, ambassadors and dignitaries, and he just watched, so unmoving that birds often roosted in his hair.

It’s said that there are always a few bad seeds in a pickle, and Dorian just waited for people to reveal the ‘bad seeds‘, which he then reported back to Quinn. The spy had known the castellan for several years, the two could even be considered friends. That’s if people like them have friends.

“How is Moriah?“

Quinn yawned, “I can report to you that my wife is perfectly healthy, sadly I haven’t spoken to her recently, I was…late coming home from work last night, so I slept in the spare bedroom-”

“-You and her still having trouble conceiving then?”

No reply came. Just a chilling silence. Dorian suddenly felt prickles on the back of his neck, his natural instincts kicking in, warning him he’d crossed a line. Dorian was someone who could tell by their expression when a man was suffering from troublesome bowel movements, or when a woman had her moon cycle. And yet, at this moment, he couldn’t read the look on his friend’s face. It felt unnerving, like a scholar who had suddenly become illiterate. Perhaps it was time to change the subject.

 “Anyways…..I was bored so I followed Corrigahn, he’s at it again, I don’t know where he finds the time, or the energy, he appears to spend more time horizontal than vertical, and I’ll tell you this; the woman getting pleased is never Mrs Corrigahn.” For extra emphasis, he waggled his eyebrows.

Quinn wrinkled his nose and carried on reading about the effect of piracy on trade in the Adanian Sea. “Dorian, I don’t pay you to gossip.”

The spy didn’t seem to notice and carried on, “And I don’t like this new bodyguard they have, Drea Corfuyne, she looks in dark corners when most people let them pass by. I’m going to have to be careful while hanging around her. Aeris, on the other hand, wouldn’t spot me if I was dancing on his nose naked. Too obsessed with reaching high places, not that he can reach any higher with those short stubby arms of his…”

The castellan’s cold blue eyes stopped reading and fixed themselves on Dorian. “Did you just say, Corfuyne?”

“Yup, that’s her name, Drea Corfuyne, she’s very enjoyable to watch, highlight of my day, though sadly they had the curtains drawn.” The dark haired man winked.

The castellan said nothing, letting Dorian’s lewd comments pass him by, as wheels turned in his mind, It can’t be, did he have a daughter?

The ratty haired spy got up and pulled on his boots again, “Well, I’ll see ya later, I’m popping by to the Courtyard, going to see Ruje.” The man grinned showing yellowish teeth. “Wanna come? You can’t stay cooped up in here all the time you know. Ain’t healthy. You got to get out and start living your life sometime.”

For a brief moment his friend’s face showed a slight change in expression, that a careful reader of faces might, after a lucky guess, conclude to be ‘sadness’. Guil shook his head, “Go, I’ve got a meeting with the ambassador….”

Dorian shrugged and legged it out the window, calling back gleefully, “Have fun!”




The castellan found the ambassador in his large office, unlike his own small room; it had a view of the river and was lined with the ambassador’s personal collection of military weaponry from his younger years.

“Good morning, m’lord, I’ve looked over the ne-” Quinn didn’t even have time to mention the damage of piracy on their trading partners, before the ambassador interrupted him.

“-So what you think of this new cursed Vardynn ambassador? Another Fruwee! His own nephew! You can tell that the boy obviously has got no talent himself, just gets the job due to his bloody uncle! Hah! And I thought the Thane of Vardynn had better taste…”

“The Armourlord's calling comes through the sword.”

Lord Tristram’s brow wrinkled in confusion, “Come again?”

“I’m reserving my opinion till the man proves his worth, or lack of worth for that matter, m’lord. Though…it should be noted that he would prove a useful ally, his family’s multiple connections with the Circle league are valuable alone. Very valuable indeed, it is said that he possesses several members of the Fallen’s Council as his allies.”

“He does, does he?” The ambassador’s eyes gleamed with the shine of a potential opportunity. “So, you think I should send him an invite?”

Every year Belenos held a party celebrating the day of his appointment to ambassadorship. The scroll invitations were written in kowyn gold ink and were tied with dark blue silk ribbons and feathers. Guillemot himself considered this a bit ‘vulgar’ but was wise to never voice this opinion in front of the man sitting in front of him.

Quinn paused, knowing that there was no good time to say what he was about to suggest. Lord Tristam was an angry man by nature; the man could compete with volcanoes when it came to pure fuming rage. The castellan chose his words carefully; the wrong ones would cause him to erupt.

"M'lord...don't you think that perhaps....we should cancel the party, I know it’s only a week away, but under the circumstances it might be seen as a bit callous..."

Belenos huffed and signed the endless stack of letter and scolls even more viciously, his quill almost scrapping through the paper.

"Cancel? I don't see why not. It's my damn party! I haven't died, so we should carry on. This new damn ambassador of Vardynn can even be the guest of honour!"

"But will he come, m'lord? Seeing as his uncle just died..."

"Won't come? Won't come? So he’s too bloody good to come my party? A damn insult! He'd be breaking a friendship between Nermeran and Vardynn that has lasted centuries! Oh he better had come or I'll bloody-" Scrip. "Damn!" The ambassador cursed as his quill made a hole in a letter to the Duke of Nyermersys. "Quinn, get me a new quill! This one's too pointy!"

The castellan sighed and handed the ambassador a new quill from the sideboard, "I'll send out the invites then...perhaps Ambassador Fruwee's can be sent along with our letter of condolence?"

Unfortunately Belenos Tristam didn't have the right mind for sarcasm. "Yes, sounds about right, kill two birds with one stone!" Scrip. “Damnation! Quinn, get me another coor-ridden quill!”

“Yes, m’lord.” Replied the castellan, already making his way back to the pot of quills on the sideboard.

“And send an invitation to Lord Valdimarr of Ephirn as well, sure he’s practically got no land himself, but I hear he’s gaining influence in the Order. Didn’t you train together in the Order when you were young? You must know him well?”

“Yes, m’lord, I suppose I do.”

Guillemot looked out of the window, taking in the view of the river. It didn’t look so bleak and sinister during the day.
--------------------------------------------------------
« Last Edit: February 14, 2010, 08:42:39 PM by Ylva Rasmussan » Logged
Ylva Rasmussan
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« Reply #2 on: February 05, 2010, 03:08:59 PM »

Chapter 2

Maskerades and murder plots



Lord Belenos Tristram, ambassador of Nermeran, cordially invites you to celebrate with him at the Maskerade Ball, on 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans....

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------



For most the year, the Nermeran Embassy Assembly rooms hibernated quietly, the furniture covered in sheets, the staircase blanketed in a thick layer of dust. Untouched and undisturbed it slumbered in the dark.

          
          Then suddenly the doors would be unlocked. The cleaners, the carpenters, the dusters, the maids, the stonemasons, the servants and the sweepers would all descend. The shutters would be opened, light pouring in through large open balcony windows, fresh air escaping into the musty space. Opulent silvery grey curtains would be removed from their hiding places in the attics and dusted off. Chandeliers would be polished till they shone, hung up with care, floating above the space below like second suns. The deep swirling marble blue floor would be revealed from under its protective cover, swept and polished till it gleamed, till light danced across it like reflections in the water.


          The Maskerade Ball was coming.


          The venue, the Assembly Rooms, awoke from its dusty days of non-use, and took flight like a butterfly. In its glory, the room was truly a wonder to behold. The pride of the embassy, with a swirling marble floor like an ocean, and a dark blue ceiling like a midnight sky, silver stairs painted across it, referring to the Erpheronian Kings and Queens of old, dotted across the ceiling to depict the constellations of the gods. The walls were swaved in golden and silver banners of the king and of the province of Nermeran. Mirrors hid between drapes of luxurious colourful fabrics, making the room seem even more epic in proportions. Curtains of delicate silks divided up the cards room, the dining room, and the dance hall with its majestic staircase of black polished marble, which dominated the room with its mountain-like presence. Small glass ornaments of sickles and suns, hung from the ceiling.


          Within a few days, the place was transformed from a lifeless shell into a living fantasy. A symbol of Nermeran’s power and culture. These were Erpheronians and they were going to damn well show off with everything they got. Lord Belenos Tristram wasn’t going to scrimp on anything.


          The embassy had been stockpiling the food and drink for several months. Merchants were sent out to the far reaches of the world. Golden rain crops were harvested, the finest bakers in Nermeran were sent for. A bounty was advertised for anyone who could bring back the fresh meat of a giant kraken. Smelly cheeses and fruits of the exotic were imported into the city in heavy carts. Hundreds of barrels of various alcohol and liquors, from Leithe to Mil'no Fire, were stored down in the cellars. Whales, boars, wargs, deer and blackhog were slaughtered. The chief spit roaster of the embassy fainted in the line of duty after working for too long. Chefs and cooks flitted through the kitchens, preparing to their guests, shouting out orders.


          Maids and servants scurried about the corridors, carrying linen and glasses, candles and cutlery. The housekeeper was at her wit’s end, whatever she did, something always was forgotten, something always went wrong. And then she would descend and give a talking to whoever’s fault it was that there wasn’t enough linen. Demanding to know the answer to why there was pig fat on the marble flooring or why the drapes had caught fire from one of the candles.


          Hopefully all her hard work and handiwork would go unseen, all the mistakes, blood, sweat, tears and screaming would undoubtedly remain hidden from the public. The hundreds of people, polishing glasses, dusting paintings, cleaning the entrance steps, baking bread, lining the white linen tables with food, they would go unseen, they would be unrecognised. Even the poor servant who was stuck following the ambassador’s dog around, making sure the creature didn’t scratch, bite, nibble, lick, pee or poop on anything valuable-which meant everything-, he too would remain unnamed and unacknowledged.


          Yet more people were required to serve and wait on the guests, dressed up in simple blue uniforms and white masks around their eyes. Even more extravagant were the costumes of the entertainers, with sparkling outfits and masks of various shapes bursting with feathers of various shimmering shades.  


          With the busy tense atmosphere inside the walls of the embassy, the performers were forced to practise in the embassy gardens. Jugglers could be seen walking about blindfolded as they flung knives into the air. Dancers stretched their limbs and warmed up amongst the rose gardens. Tailors ran about amongst flowers, adding finishing touches to the costumes.


          The master of revels had a panic attack when the contortionist went missing. An unobservant servant had come across her prop box with her secretly practising inside and had accidently carried her into a broom cupboard, locking the cupboard as he left, leaving the contortionist inside. To escape, the poor woman had had to climb through a tiny window onto the roof.



          The days counted down till there was only hours left.


          An acrobat covered in dark red feathers, twisted and dived above the staircase, practising their act, suspended by only a silk rope. In one corner an old fortune teller waited to beckon guests to sit with her. Musicians tuned their instruments.


          The day was reaching into the Guardorans, night was setting in, and a trail of torches was lit in two lines leading to the entrance.


          A queue of carriages soon lined the drive. Guests alighting, greeted by footmen who took their capes and cloaks, their horses and carriages were taken away to the tables by the grooms.


          Soon the embassy rooms were teeming with party-goers, dressed up in all their finery, the air thick with laughter and gossip, waiters gliding through the crowds carrying trays laden with glasses of wine and silver mugs of ale. Oohs and aahs could be heard, as they watched the acrobats spinning above them, the dancers twirling on their tiptoes and the fire breather blowing flames out his mouth like a dragon.


          The guests varied from rich young merchants to old moneyed noblemen. Erpheronians and Eyelians , Shendar and Seyelites, the crowd was a mixed cauldron of all manner of tribes and races, with elves, human and dwarfs scattered about the room. Young men betted and gambled in the Card Room, waited on by green feathered waitresses, while in the Dining Room, women in fashionable dresses and the most elegant of masks, gossiped as they nibbled on oya nuts and peppered hearthberries. In the Dance Hall, their names were announced as they descended down the dark black stone staircase, to be greeted by the ambassador himself, Lord Belenos Tristram.


           The man wore a large black mask with a long hooked nose and black feathers, grinning at his guests and shaking their hands with vigour. No matter what disagreement he had with them, no matter what feuds they held, this was a social occasion and therefore somehow politeness was called for. Tomorrow he would curse and yell at the gods to smite the bleeding traitors and weasels; tonight he would be friends with everyone.


           Ambassadors of various provinces, generals and captains of different orders, all descended down the stairs and exchanged pleasantries with the ambassador. A huge hush filled the hall as the Santhran himself arrived and everyone turned to look as the announcer called out the name of His Majesty, Santhran Tiandor of House Salazath. The noble king wore a simple mask, which on close inspection was made of mithril. Santhran Tiandor, and his exceedingly large entourage, descended the stairs to be greeted by the ambassador of Nermeran before he too let himself become part of the crowd, with some guests clambering for just a glimpse of him.


           Watching as the Santhran himself got lost in the crowd, Belenos Tristram grinned to himself, proud and puffed up at the amount of people that had come. Looking around he wondered why his bloody Castelan hadn’t turned up yet, and what time his guest of honour would grace them with his presence.


          Just at that moment, the announcer announced the arrival of Lord Kembar Fruwee, Ambassador of Vardynn.
« Last Edit: February 14, 2010, 08:48:04 PM by Ylva Rasmussan » Logged
Drea
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« Reply #3 on: February 06, 2010, 09:07:40 AM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans (9PM)

Drea was uncomfortable.  Her dress was too big, not in the fitting, but in the flowing, with a large skirt puffed out with whalebone hoops and at least half a dozen petticoat layers.  And it was too modest, covering her chest well above her cleavage, the sognastheen satin fabric draping off her shoulders with lace accents.  This was not her style.  She wanted to wear something a little more body hugging; something with a drop down bodice where she could show off her bosom, maybe a high cut slit on the skirt for her shapely legs.  But, Lady Tylannah had almost fainted when Drea first presented herself to the lady and immediately sent her personal seamstress to alter one of Tylannah's pre-pregnancy dresses to fit Drea.  To this, they added the indignity of wearing a small mask with the green feathers of the Gossiper bird.

In truth, she did not want to come here at all, but Aeris had insisted on it.  She was to watch over the lady, while Corrigahn protected Fruwee.  Oh, goody.  A night with a gaggle of gossipy hens.  If she had to attend this bloody thing, at least Aeris could have done was assign her to the ambassador himself.  But no.  He was still grumpy over not being invited, so he wanted to ruin her night as well.  The ass!  The short hobbity sized ass!

She stood on the grand staircase, two paces behind the ambassador and lady as they were announced to the crowd.  Kembar Fruwee was resplendent in a tunic of a bright white colour, with the Erpheronian coat of arms embroidered in red thread on the breast.  His small eye and nose covering mask was tied to his head with a bright red ribbon, and was a simple red ceramic mask with red feathers sprouting out from above each eye.  His wife wore a pretty injohue dress that showed off her protruding belly as if it were an accessory of the outfit itself.  Her large mask was far more lavish than her husbands, a white full faced mask of ivory that she held in place by a small ivory stick that it was attached to.  Long purple and blue feathers drape down from the mask, acquired from the Blue Glitra bird.

Fruwee greeted each person with humility and graciousness, careful to promise each noble a meeting sometime in the coming months, and flattery each of their wives, but finessing his way out of talking hard politics by telling each of them that he still had not settled into his role yet.  Each handshake was accompanied by a "Thank you, yes, my uncle was a great man" or a "Yes, my uncle spoke highly of you and I'm sure that we shall be able to continue that relationship".  It was an automated response to automated greetings.  One would have to search hard to find one honest sentiment in the entire room.

Tylannah Fruwee was experiencing the exact same thing.  "Oh, I'm due in a few short weeks" or "Thank you, my seamstress is a gem, and may I say that you look beautiful as well" were the words that flowed from her to each of the ladies that circled her, each trying to get to know her a bit better and be the first to claim her into their small circle of confidants.  Wives, especially in the theatre of politics, were sometimes the most important of information gatherers.

Drea noted that with Tylannah, that the ambassadors wife seemed almost genuine in her dealings with the others.  Was she that good an actress, or that naive?  Drea reached out and took a crystal glass off a tray that a butler carried as he passed her.  She smelled it, then took a tiny sip.  Expensive.   She wasn't even sure what kind of wine it was.  Beyond her usual budget limitations.

"You sure you should be drinking?  You're supposed to be protecting our Lady."

Drea nearly jumped as the voice whispered into her ear from close behind her.  Her hand went to her hip to grab at her ephord, but it was not there.  Recognizing the voice, she relaxed somewhat, but did not turn around.  "Shouldn't you be a little closer to the ambassador?"  She grunted in frustration.  "Besides, how am I supposed to protect her when I can't even wear my swords?  At least you got to wear yours."

Corrigahn shrugged.  "I've got him in my sights.  As for a weapon, yes, I can wear my sword because I've been to a dozen of Tristram's balls over the years.  You?  Nobody knows who you are yet, so no one trusts you.  Besides, I bet if I checked you close enough, I'd find a weapon in that dress somewhere."  He let his hand travel over her back, running down toward her bottom.

Drea turned around and took hold of his hand in a quick movement that twisted one of his fingers backwards at a painful angle.  Oh, she had a weapon in there alright.  Her dagger was strapped to the inside of her thigh, though it would take ten minutes to try and dig out from under all these damn petticoats.  "Why don't we both just stick to doing our jobs?"

"Ahh ahh ahh," Corrigahn grimaced while laughing.  Getting his finger back, he rubbed it to get the circulation flowing once more.  "Look, I want to see you, again.  You look incredible tonight.  How about after this shin dig ends, we meet up at my apartment?"

Drea smiled demurely and slowly traced her fingertip over the line of his jaw, admiring his good looks beneath his mask.  "Fine.  You go there and wait, and if I'm not there by Shadowleave, start without me."  She blew him a kiss and walked away, getting herself closer to the gaggle of ladies surrounding Tylannah.
« Last Edit: February 06, 2010, 03:42:01 PM by Drea » Logged

Drea's CD

Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
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« Reply #4 on: February 06, 2010, 05:25:25 PM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Daybreak (6AM)

The had a few hours before its grand appearance when the elfess entered the main center of the city of New Santhala, one of the many cities she had visited in her tiring search for her son. Despite the numbers out searching for Ystein and the little boy, nothing had been discovered and it was beyond disheartening for Kalína to hear the lack of good news on a daily basis. Being so depressed was not doing her any good physically or spiritually, and only made her make panicked assumptions about the situation. So upon coming to New Santhala, she was searching for a distraction, even if only temporary until she undertook the search for the elusive Ystein.

A nor'sidian cloak with a deep cowl did well to help cover her insecurities of being in society. She was mostly at a loss when it came to interacting out of her comfort zone, especially since her Tharian left much to be desired as she mixed it with both Stýrash and the language of the Dragons. This mess did more harm than good when it came to asking for aid in cities she felt quite uncomfortable with. Her footsteps were light and shakey upon the ground as she walked, hands clutching her bags so tightly her knuckles were turning white, fearing someone would notice her uneasiness and take advantage of it.

Her walk through the city had given her the opportunity to admire the architecture and reminiscence about her time in the great Draconic Empires and grand Celebration Halls. What she wouldn't give to be back amongst the familiarity and not struggling to keep everything together in this realm. The loss in her first life was tragic, and it had done a significant amount of damage to her disposition, hence her decision to leave the painful memories in the world she no longer felt where she belonged. It wasn't until she had found the unexpected welcoming arms from the Dragons, did her world feel comfortably right once again.


Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Sunblaze (9AM)
Upon her nearly thorough exploration of the city, a few hours later, she had discovered the location of many of the embassies and who was in control of each one. It was also the word on the street about a massive celebration, a Maskarade Ball given by the Nermeran Embassy. The need for entertainers and those with the knowledge and willingness to help in providing the guests with a superb experience, were also noted in the numerous whispers as she walked. A distraction. I must find this Embassy. After a few unsuccessful attempts to ask for directions, mostly due to trouble she had in asking, she was able to make her way in the right direction. Being told she would know the place when she was close, as there would be a mass of people making their way to the Embassy in hopes of being able to entertain the high class guests.

As she had hoped, the wonderful people who had taken the time in struggling to understand her broken Tharian, led her to the correct place. Making her way through the mass of people, she tried to find someone who looked as if they were in charge of something in hopes of applying for a position at the ball, and perhaps a more permanent position while she searched the city. Thankfully, she found a short and quite stout little man, shouting out directions till he was red in the face, to a crowd who was paying him no mind. Her mind went over what she was going to say, and prayed he would understand her well enough.

"Pardon, you do know...applying where for...entertainer?" She winced noticeably at how horrible it sounded. She fear he may think of her as an sick outcast.

Steel blue eyes looked her up and down for a moment, evaluating the cloaked figure with a stern uncertainty, especially since the speech was quite broken.

"Do you have a name, lady?"

"Kalíina Mërénwèn...Sir. Travelled far, searching for son and work."

The man gave her a blank stare as he tried to piece together her words with a bit more inbetween. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before reopening his eyes and examining her once again.

"Can you sing? And do you play an instrument?"

She nodded and pulled out her harp from its bag, showing it to him with confidence. "I play."

The man grunted and motioned her inside the embassy, following in behind her. As she followed him inside, she pushed back the cowl which covered her face. Though she was nearly nine centuries old, you would not believe her to be a day above thirty-two, as she is both an elf and the Dragon's time suspension made her age at half the normal rate once she began her time with them. Hoping the man would guide her to the correct place for her to be, she was dismayed when he just pointed in a general direction, mumbled something, then left to go outside once again. Confused, and more importantly, lost, she began to meander about looking for the proper place for her to be. She put her harp back into its bag and pulled her shoulders back, trying to appear as if she knew what she was doing.then started walking in the general direction the stout little man had pointed, hoping to find another person to help give her more detailed directions.

Of course, in a place bustling with excitement over the coming ball, it was not difficult to find another body willing to provide helpful information on where her place would best be. After entreating several ladies and gentlemen for the directions, she found herself in a garden amongst a wide array of performers: acrobats, musicians, jugglers, comedians, and many more. So much going on, it was as if chaos had taken hold in a place which was supposed to thrive on order. Trying to be as careful as possible, she danced about various performers, avoiding flying knives, legs, and who knows what else. Holding her harp to her chest, she searched for a quiet and solitary place to practice a few tunes before this grand ball was planned to begin. She was unsure of what she would play or sing, but she had no doubt, something beautiful would come to mind as she had collected more than her fair share over the years.

After about twenty minutes of ducking, dodging, watching, dancing, she found a corner empty and beckoning to her. It was a grassy knoll with several rose bushes on two sides. Granted, it wasn't a true corner, but it provided enough seclusion to suit her needs. Nimble fingers gingerly unclasped her cloak and laid it on the grass, followed by her sitting on it for a bit of comfort. Her gown, billowed slightly as she spun to sit, the pale allia and silver trimming complementing her own features almost perfectly. Placing her harp bag in her lap, she lifted the leather flap and carefully removed the ancient instrument from its protective holding. The harp had been a gift from her father many many years ago, and the time it had spent with the Dragons, she swore it had come to possess a variety of enchantments - yet none of them she could adequately prove. Fingers ran along the strings, enjoying the feel of their taut strength and imagining the heavenly tunes it had played. Slowly, her fingertips plucked at each string, creating and animating music, exciting the senses with its sound. It felt good to have the connection once again, and the worries of her life faded as the music flowed stronger.






« Last Edit: February 07, 2010, 07:02:11 PM by Kalína Mërénwèn » Logged

Insanity is only a perception made by those who have yet to attain its greatness. While those of us who have already stepped inside its bounds find bliss in our utter madness.
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« Reply #5 on: February 09, 2010, 04:58:01 AM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Greyshade (8pm)

A Long Day’s Night…

The home of the Quinn’s wasn’t very fancy or even very noticeable. It sat amongst identical townhouses, mostly habituated by merchants and the like. Guillemot Quinn had chosen it due to how similar it was to Erpheronian architecture. To others, the small shuttered windows and dark stone walls made it feel bleak and fortress-like. To the castellan, it was home.

The man himself sat in his study in his best black waistcoat and shirt. Peering out one of the shutters he saw how dark it was getting. They were going to be late but the man knew how his wife always took this long in getting ready.

The redhead calmly paced to the door and called out into the corridor, “Dorcas? Are you here?”

There was a sound of busy clattering footsteps and a busty stout woman popped out from around a corner, carrying a kettle and an iron. “Yes Mi’lord?”

“Could you go see if my wife is ready, if she refuses to come down, send for me, I’ll talk to her.”

The housekeeper nodded and scuttled away. Guillemot returned to his desk and went back to examining the letter that had arrived only an hour ago by express courier.

Dear Quinn,

You were right to contact me regarding your concerns; I have inquired and the answer is still the same, Lord Ephron of House Corfuyne never did bear any kin, and whatever relatives he did have, they passed away a long time ago. Whoever this women is, she cannot be his relation. Glad to be of service to you,

Yours sincerely,   

Sir Walken Vaulkerek
Knight of the Fallen
The Order of the Cross


Suddenly there was a knock on the door, Dorcas entered with a look of disgust written on her rounded face. “Mi’lord, a Mister Dorian Noone is here to see you.”

Intrigued as to why the envoy would choose to come to his home and invade his privacy, the castellan bid the woman to send him in.

The housekeeper glared at the ragged skinny bloke as she quick marched him down the corridors to the study. No innocent person lets themselves in through the pantry window; especially when they leave dirty footprints all over your clean marble floor. In Dorcas’ world, that surely made him a criminal.

The woman bowed to her employer and let the scum into his study, then left to dust the second floor paintings, leaving the two friends alone in the dim candlelight.

The red haired one patiently waited for his friend to say something, the castellan was not one to start conversations. He preferred to listen.

The dark haired ragged one just stared at him, a suspicious look on his face, his head tilted to one side like a dog’s. After a couple moments of awkward silence, the envoy finally spoke.

Just two words.

“Oz Jackstrum.”

With a completely innocent face, Quinn looked up from the desk and smiled at his friend. “Hmm? Who is that?”
“Please, don’t lie and say you didn’t know him.”
“But, I don’t know of this man, Dorian.” Oh yes, the red-haired man gave a perfect performance of confusion.
“Oh but you do, believe me, I remember! You told me of him while we were stuck out in the Highlands, I remember, you said he worked for your father....He had a wife.”
The red haired diplomat appeared to be little affected by the fact that his victim had had kin. The man just stared out the window at the city. In a quiet and casual whisper, he finally calmly admitted to the act. “It was necessary.”

“Necessary?!” The ratty man snorted, it would have almost been funny if a dead body hadn’t been involved. “Falls and fells, Guil, how can you say that?”

“He knew about Guy. Who knows what he might have realized had he been sober.”

Ah, Guy. Dorian knew that someone it had connected to Guy, it always did. His friend might be a murderer, but at least there was always reason behind the blood on his hands. He might have lost his conscious, but he was still Quinn, the logical, cool-minded strange man he’d always known. Still Dorian couldn’t believe that he’d become this paranoid. With hands hiding his face, the spy sank down onto the nearest soft chair and sighed.

“So…cause he knew Guy, you killed him?”
His hands clenched into fists. “That’s it?! Cause of that, you murdered him! Cause of your paranoia at being caught, you killed a man! Kedril Behrns is bloody well looking for the killer right now, you feffin son of a greyler!”
Quinn smiled to himself and carried on with his work. “I don’t think I have to worry about a lowly constable…“
Dorian stared in astonishment at his friend; however it was the next bit of his friend’s speech that frightened him most, “…Dorian, he was just a servant. Nothing more. It is not like as if he was important or any….” His cold blue eyes stared straight at Dorian. “I believe you couldn’t say the same.”
The spy’s features fell, “That was necessary, he’d have killed us all…”
His friend smiled understandingly, and at that moment, Dorian felt only pure hatred for the man, he hated him for reminding him of what he’d done.

Quinn knew all his secrets. It was the thirty-first man, whatever he did; it’d always lead back to the thirty-first man. The criminal couldn’t run away from it. Everyday it’d haunt him.

There was yet another cold silence. The dynamics of the friendship again realigned, Quinn brought up another subject that concerned him.

“Dorian, as much as you hate me right now, we have bigger trouble, Lord Jarl Valdimarr is coming to the ball, he’s probably there right now.”
The criminal head jolted up, “Oh blooming Rover Nancy!”
The castellan just smiled, “Do not worry, he won’t recognize me.” The murderer pulled out an old black mask from a desk drawer.

“Anyway, I have a particular person who is going to look after Valdimarr, he won’t get the chance to talk to anyone or even speak to me.”
Dorian’s eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “What you mean ‘a particular person’?”
The blue eyed diplomat grinned a handsome smile. “Do you know, my friend, that Ferlin has a dead body hidden in one of the salt barrels in The Courtyard.”
The envoy’s mouth fell open like a gaping fish, the red haired man chuckled a rather unnerving chuckle,
“You haven’t been concentrating hard enough. You’ve let that pretty bodyguard, you’re so fond of, distract you. You haven’t been observing everything that’s been going on. Envoys kept commenting on how Ferlin’s been a bit jittery lately, I was curious, two days ago, I sent Turrell to find out more.”

The chief spy snarled, as if he’d smelt a bad smell. “You sent Turrell, that torturer?”

“He did a better job than you did. The threatening worked, the man broke down instantly. I then sent Turrell to offer a contract to the culprit. We won’t report them if they work for us. I just need you to go to The Courtyard and help poor Ferlin dispose of the evidence.”

The spy reeled; his friend was planning to have someone killed at the ball.

Suddenly Dorian found himself wondering how much he truly knew about Guil. Sure, he knew all his secrets and lies, but they did not make a man. The redhead had hid himself all his life. He’d kept so much back. Who knows how his queer mind ticked? Dorian looked at his friend. If the redhead had put that black mask on right now, the envoy would have recognized him more than this smiling cold bastard before him. His face, with the handsome cheekbones and pale slightly freckled skin, now that was Quinn’s true mask.

"You want me to smuggle a dead body out a public building? I don’t want my head on the block, Guil."

The redhaired man just replied with a look that said “Do you have a choice?“

The spy automatically started to make his way to his preferred exit and entrance to all buildings, the window. “Ok, I’m going, I’ll go help Ferlin.”

The envoy sighed, “Guil, your horse ain’t gonna outrun Lady Death forever. Life is going to catch up with ya sometime. I just hope I’m not there to see it.” He reached the window and clambered out into the slightly chilly spring air, adding one final comment, “Guy wouldn’t have thought him just a servant; Guy would have known that he was more than that.”

Dorian was shocked to see an actual emotional reaction from his red haired friend, probably due to the repeated mention of their fallen comrade.

“Well then, my friend,”
The words were spoken with no attempt to hide the anger and spite that lay within them, “Then it is tragic that the man is dead, is it not?”

With that he slammed the shutters behind him, almost crushing the spy’s foot as he left, leaving Quinn again alone in the dark candle lit room. The castellan sighed to himself, "Keep your wits keen til next we meet my friend...."

« Last Edit: February 23, 2010, 04:21:05 AM by Ylva Rasmussan » Logged
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« Reply #6 on: February 09, 2010, 06:59:13 AM »

Date: 27th Singing Bird.

Ylaya walked along the sleepy road from the Courtyard to the Embassy she had been informed about, it was cold and the day was just beginning. She did not expect much or even be aloud in, but she would wait and try her chances. Her cloak shifted as her heavy hood protected her face from the views of nosey people walking down the street. Then she turned to the quickest route she could see to the Embassy in the distance down a back alley.

As she walked, heels clicking on the cobbled back alley her eyes picked up a shadow in the shade of the two walls that flanked the alley.

"Well hello there."
he said to her, knowing that he had just been spotted. He emerged from the shadows as she paused.

From under the cloak she looked at him, did not necessarily seem like much, what did he want?

"I heard a man was killed recently...you know anything about it...Courtyard...quite brutal I heard?" he said with a certain satisfaction in the sense of possessing knowledge she did not know he had.

How did he know about that? she thought as her hand went down to her blade hidden under her cloak.

She looked at him with interest, he could barely see her under the hood and cloak.

"Not much" she said trying to draw off his attention.

"Well...that is not exactly what I heard and what if I were to share this crime with a few people...tell them what I heard"
he said in a smug way.

Her eyes widened, she was shocked, but he was not going to. Quickly she ran at him with speed drawing her blade quickly to pin him against the wall and she took out her other blade holding it across his neck ready to slash his neck open if need be. He struggled but seemed not even be worried, what was he playing at?

"Well, what if I was to kill you then no one would ever know but me?"
she said very strongly.

"Yes, they would...because if I die my contacts would inform the guard for me and you would have no place to hide...or you could hear me out?" he said knowing he had her.

She removed her hood and showed him what she looked like. He was attracted to say the least and smiled. Her long elf ears extended feeling the cool wind.

"O…I see, so that's what he fell for then?"
he said smiling.

This comment amused Ylaya, enough to make him kick him right between the legs with her armoured knee sending him to his knees on the cobbled floor. He breathed heavily, that must have been painful...but it was meant to be.

"What do you want?" she said as she circled him looking round to make sure no one was watching.

He struggled to gain his breath but got up and managed to show a brave face.

"Soon, it is necessary to kill a man...he is called Lord Valdimarr, my client would like him taken care of, at the ball in 2 days time…quietly if possibly"
he whispered to her.

Her ears picked up the cowardice with which he spoke. She looked at him head to toe before providing an answer.

"What are the terms, I kill him and your client keeps my secret?" she said to him as she put her blades back and crossed her arms.

"Yes" he said and he continued "All my client requires is loyalty"

"Fine...but two questions...can I take him out by any means? And where can I contact you after? she said confidently

"Any means, but try not to get caught doing it and the embassy is where you will find my client" he said.

She drew her blade once more and pressed it against his neck, the point drawing a small amount of blood.

"Caught? You don't think a professional like me needs advice off a farm animal like you" she said smirking with a sense of superiority over him. She then put her hood up and walked back to the Courtyard. Turrel moved back to the shadows holding his neck with one hand and his crotch with the other, that had not gone as smoothly as anticipated, but at least he had obtained her employment.

2 days she thought, Time to make some preparations.
« Last Edit: February 09, 2010, 07:10:12 AM by Ylaya » Logged

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« Reply #7 on: February 09, 2010, 10:45:30 AM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans (9PM)

Maskerades and Murderplots...

The ball was going swimmingly as the Quinns arrived, at least half an hour late.

In the Assembly Rooms, friendships were made and lost, scandals were created, and gossip became a form of currency. The drinking, dancing and merry-making seemed to never end. Hundreds of san was being lost and won in the Cards Room, In the Dining Room, waiters weaved amongst the heaving sea of people, quickly replacing drinks and food, providing a neverending flourish for even the most gluttonous and greedy. The entertainers danced and performed in the main hall, using their music and revelry to enthuse the delighted crowds.

“Where the feffin hell have you been Quinn?” Was his employer’s welcome as the castellan met him at the bottom of the grand staircase. The castellan peered around at the crowds, relieved to see that Valdimarr was not yet amongst them. The large and rather drunk ambassador leaned over and whispered, “I’ve forgotten half these people’s names!”

Lord Tristram glared at his new rival, Lord Fruwee, as the young noble was surrounded by a large group of well wishers and supporters. "The cheek, the man comes to my party and takes all the attention...how chivalrous is that?!"

Guillemot sighed and turned to his wife. “I have to advise his Lordship for a moment, and then I promise I will try and enjoy this ball with you.” The woman gave him a wicked smiled in return, making the delicate features on her doll-like face become even more beautiful. “Will you promise to dance with me, Guillemot?”

Moriah Quinn could almost see her husband cringing beneath his black mask. “We will see....”

 “You’re no fun.... “ His wife pouted,“Perhaps I shall go talk to that handsome captain of Vardynn embassy’s personal guard? Now he sounds like fun, a regular Brandivere from what I’ve heard.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” The castellan’s blue eyes glared at his spouse from beneath his dark mask. The castellan lowered his voice to a whisper,Anyway, how do you know of Corrigahn’s dalliances?"

His spouse just winked and pretended to hide behind her purple mask with firebird feathers framing its face.

Women.

 Quinn sighed and took the chance to survey his wife’s appearance. Most women were said to be beautiful, but Moriah Quinn was truly regarded as an epic beauty. Dark green eyes shone from her pale oval face, a faint pinkish blush dusted across her cheeks. Since her leaving of Goutonch and her arrival into society, her grace and pose was constantly remarked upon as a paragon of gentility.

However the castellan knew the woman behind the elegant turns and fancy frocks, the woman who possessed a mind like steel. He was continuously amazed by his wife’s knowledge of current affairs and gossip. Quinn had to employ several envoys in order to keep an eye on things. Moriah just listened to the gossip while at luncheon with Lady Kaitrin of Lorehaven. Her way was quicker, less stressful and involved less paperwork.

The redhead made a mental note to tell Dorian to follow the handsome Vardynn captain even more closely.
 
“Ah, Fruwee!” Quinn heard Lord Tristram shout out the Vardynn ambassador’s name. He sighed and followed, wife in tow, as the ambassador made his way to his new rival and best friend; parting the large crowd that surrounded the Vardynn ambassador with his large round barrel-like torso.

The castellan watched, standing a few ped behind, as Tristram shook the young Lord’s hand vigorously; the redhead took the chance to scan the crowd for the mysterious fake Corfuyne. Sadly all the women were dressed the same; unfortunately none were decked out in full armour and weaponry, nothing to give away which one was the bodyguard. No matter, later he’d inquire with the new ambassador about any new staff he’d taken on, then he’d talk to this so-called Corfuyne. The castellan turned his attention back to his employer, who was making his usual boorish remarks with no effort at subtly.

“Lord Kembar Fruwee, welcome to my embassy, if you require anything, don’t hesitate to ask! My, my your wife is very far along isn’t she? Or has she just e-“ From years of previous experience and an almost seer-like sensing of trouble, Quinn quickly jumped in and saved his Lordship.
“-Tell me, Mi’lord, my ambassador was wondering how you felt about the slight increase in piracy in the past year, do you believe that there should be greater effort to rid the seas of obstacles to trade like Tendrim Jovloff and Arkan Delath? The Stoamcloaks are constantly calling for a more unified defence within our oceans.”

Luckily it appeared to work, and Lord Tristram took the opportunity to then jump in and show off the level of knowledge and ability that had made him ambassador in the first place. “Yes, I am currently planning to set up an alliance between provinces and our trade relations, which may ensure safer seas for the future.” The lord grinned at the fancy statement, very glad that he’d taken the time to read a bit of Quinn’s detailed report before the ball. “I trust that I have the support of both you and your Thane?” The lord waited hungrily for his young counterpart's reply.

“And, may I introduce my Personal Secretary and current Castellan of the Nermeran Embassy, Guillemot Quinn, and his lovely wife Moriah.”
The Castellan just about managed to produce a quick smile, “Mi’lord. Mi’lady.”

His wife performed a perfect curtsy accessorised with a dazzlingly charming smile. “Mi’lord. Mi’lady.”

Quinn watched and saw how her smile was painted on her face, his eyes followed down to where his wife’s eyes were looking. Lady Fruwee’s stomach was rounded and full from bearing a child within. The castellan saw how his wife stared longingly at something she could never possess. Hiding her own envy, she proceeded with her performance, “How much you must be looking forward to such an occasion, a child, how wonderful.” No one noticed the sadness written in her eyes, just the warm smile beneath them. “How you must wish that it would be as soon as possible.”

Lord Tristram left to talk to another important guest, promising to come back later to regale the new Fruwee with stories of his uncle. The Castellan turned back to the young ambassador and smiled politely, “Please forgive my master. This party causes him to be very busy; he must share his time equally between his guests...”
”...I have heard that you have taken on a new bodyguard, a Drea Corfuyne? I knew her relative, Lord Ephron. I would very much like to meet her.”

« Last Edit: February 23, 2010, 08:56:55 PM by Ylva Rasmussan » Logged
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« Reply #8 on: February 09, 2010, 11:45:42 PM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 2nd Hour of Greyshade (7PM)

Having spent most of the day lost in her music, playing in a corner in the Embassy's courtyard, Kalína jumped at the sound of the stout little man shouting an announcement to all in the courtyard. She happened to be so startled, being ripped from her state of bliss, she nearly dropped the harp which had been on her lap. Aiya Lau!

"Alright! Now, we have a short amount of time until the guests will begin to arrive, so I expect you all to spend the rest of the time getting ready to look your best for all who are attending tonight. You each have a room to prepare in, so line up and get your assignments from myself immediately."

Ti na Corsica. Carefully, she placed her harp back into the leather protection it had been taken from. She ran her fingertips along the soft material, worn from years of use and weather exposure. The thought of her father taking the same harp from the bag, everytime she asked him to play, nearly brought tears to her eyes, but she managed to shake it off before she could cause an unnecessary scene. Rising to her feet, she fell into step with those moving to make a line for the loud little man. The line itself was a good length, and it wasn't going to move very quickly, as the performers were all over the world and the need for translators was key and absolutely necessary. After nearly half an hour, it was her turn to receive her room assignments. The little man was holding a long piece of parchment full of scribbles she couldn't understand.

"Name?"

"Kalína Mërénwèn."

"You shall be in room thirty-seven. Taylor, give her directions."

"Follow me, ma'am.

Hesitantly, she nodded to the little unnamed man and took after Taylor as he took her to her room. As they walked, she tried to decide on what she would wear to the Ball, and what they meant by a Maskarade. What kind of people attended a maskarade ball? It wasn't until she nearly to the assigned room, did she think to ask Taylor all the questions she had. Not wanting to take up much more of his time, she decided to keep it to one question, short and sweet.

"What is...a ma-skar-ade ball?" She was slightly disheartened when Taylor snickered at her question, and she turned to go into her room when he answered her question.

"It is a party where people where masks, to hide their identity." He responded, still smirking as she left her alone.

A tiala yadsen tupu'rae'sie. Basque'rae!

Upon entering the her room, the splendor and elegance in which it was decorated definitely rendered her speechless for a short amount of time. Not often does she find such magnificence in the realm of humans, especially in comparison to her previous experiences. The bed a solid black with tall posts and poles running horizontally, connecting them together. Curtains of a sheer, but rich purple hung loosely from the poles, giving a slight amount of privacy within the room itself. A chest of drawers was in a corner, with a vanity and mirror in another, both matching the bed in color and in size. The wash table stood at the far end of the room, provided with a large wide bowl and a spout from which the water was delivered. A small table and two chairs stood near the middle of the room, providing a more social space to the very personable and private setting. Finding some comfort in the fact she had a room to herself, giving her the alone time she would need after being amongst so many people, she found herself relaxing and more prepared to take on the night.

Laying her bags upon the bed, she made her way to the wash bowl, finding the bowl half-way full of fresh water. Eagerly, she dipped her small hands into the coolish water and then touched her face, relishing the coolness against her features. She then inspected the vanity, finding it empty with the exception of a few items for woman to primp themselves in preparation for whatever they may be doing. It was elegantly carved with intricate designs, many of which she did not recognize and thus assumed they were from this particular kingdom, in honor of their respect and allegiance. Willingly, she sat at the vanity and took the time to look at herself with scrutiny, finding herself looking much more exhausted than she had imagined. The brush, which had been provided on the vanity, found itself being run through her lengthy silver tresses, smoothing and bringing back its healthy sheen which had been lost in the midst of her travels. Fingertips gingerly ran through her locks, admiring the length and silkiness which many years of a different world had provided. Golden hues stared through the mirror back at themselves, becoming lost in the vastness of what they had seen in the near nine centuries of their existence.

After about ten minutes of sitting at the vanity, gazing at herself from a distance, she rose and made her way back to the bed to retrieve a few items from her bags. From her largest, she removed a gown, a rich blue to compliment her ancient features. It was one of her more preferred gowns for fancy occasions such as this, even if she was merely a performer and not an invited guest on different terms. When she slipped it on and fastened it, the gown hugged her slender form, giving her curves and a long figure. The hem lines were stitched with silver thread, matching the color of her hair. The sleeves were long and pointed, covering the back of her hands and the neckline hung just below her shoulders, giving her pale skin more of an appearance than it would normally have. The back of the gown had eyelets with a long length of string by which it was fastened and tightened to what was desired. The skirt touched the floor and had a slight train in the back, giving her the illusion of more height and air than most would expect. Her shoes were simple flats, matching in color and were simple. The toe reached to half-way up her foot and covered the side of her feet, leaving some skin revealed. She left her hair untouched with any ornaments or being pulled back from her face, allowing it to hang freely where it may. While smoothing out some wrinkles in her gown, a knock came from the door of her room.

"Miss Mërénwèn? Are you ready?" She recognized the voice, as it belonged to Taylor, the young man who had escorted her earlier.

"Yes, I...am."

"Come come, they shall be ready for you."


Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans (9PM)

After gathering up her harp, the elfess emerged from her room, prepared for the long night ahead. As she turned to close the door behind her, and lock it to keep her possessions safe, she noticed Taylor staring in amazement, much like that of a small child - as the expression on their faces mimicked exactly. She flashed him a small shy smile before motioning for him to take the lead. Taylor escorted Kalína down the dimly lit halls of the Embassy, giving her the chance to enjoy the mass of culture as she walked. Occasionally, she would stop and ask a question in her broken Tharian, and Taylor was more than a gentleman in answering as simply as he could so she would understand, even if the answer was a bit more complicated than she had expected.

After about fifteen minutes or so, as it was hard to keep track of time with all their pauses along the way, they reached the grand ballroom where the noise of all the guests speaking amongst themselves was almost a deafening roar. She glanced at Taylor uneasily before he guided her into the large well lit room. It was truly a sight to behold, and it reminded her greatly of the grandeur she had become accustomed to during her time with the creatures of old. The numerous chandeliers and tables decorated grandly for the occasion. Candles and cloths, waiters in stiff yet well groomed uniforms, and all the people dressed in their finest. Glancing down at her own attire, she suddenly felt out of place amidst all the finery, and she bowed her head to hide the color of embarrassment heating her cheeks.

"You look beautiful, Miss Mërénwèn. There is nothing to be ashamed of." The soft voice of encouragement had come from Taylor, who still stood by her side, and it had taken her slightly off guard even though it was comforting.

Thank...you, Tay-lor." She sent him a meek smile, one which he responded with a large excited grin.

"Come, I will show you where you will be performing. They should almost be ready for you." He placed an encouraging hand upon her shoulder before leading the way once again, through the massive crowd to a stage especially set up for those who would be entertaining the important guests.

As they made their way, Kalína mentally prepared herself for the occasion, even if she wasn't dressed as finely as everyone else, it didn't mean she couldn't act like it. She was the Dalá'isyrás after all, and it was time for her to stop acting so humble. Pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin, she walked behind Taylor, gliding with each step she took. She could feel numerous eyes upon her as she walked, especially since her altered attitude and demeanor, as she made herself appear more important, her aura oozed it as well.

"Here we are. The chair up there is for you, if you should want or need it." He explained, motioning towards the stage for her to take her place. "Don't let them intimidate you, as you are here to enjoy yourself just as much as they.

She smiled, thankful for the kind and helpful words, but she wasn't fearful of the mass of people, just her stomach. Examining the chair, she felt it would probably be a good idea for her to use it, especially since her stomach was so uneasy about all the people, didn't need to make things any worse than they were already. When she glanced back to thank Taylor once again for all his help, he found he had disappeared into the masses and was gone. Aiya erthell, coisira ot blaise non tor lyegnn iet camalna.

With an ageless grace, Kalína took a seat in the chair provided, removing the harp from its satchel. She took a moment to enjoy the feel of the wooden frame and the cool metal strings beneath her fingertips. Their touch awakened the magic flowing within her, beckoning for release. Closing her eyes, she allowed it to course through her, strengthening and calming. Sitting erect, she placed the harp squarely in her lap and began to pluck at the strings, her eyes remaining shut. Focusing the energy at the music coming from the strings, the music filled the entire room, nearly drowning out the sound of the multitude of voices. The longer she played, the more the energy built up inside her and helped the echo of her song reach every ear. Her voice was soft and soothing, much to the same effect as like listening to a small brook trickling over the rocks and branches on its way to its destination. It wasn't loud, yet many were surprised they could hear here with an amazing clarity, as if they were standing right next to her
"Yaera vilath'sie nar quesl'nae doul lyae riena.
A fasiter waine et a dera en lati palrin'sie.
Ren nakuma ir daela na assa'iy yai'or.
Ve ron lunan tor palrin ot ren kaiv."

Her voice was soft and soothing, much to the same effect as like listening to a small brook trickling over the rocks and branches on its way to its destination. It wasn't loud, yet many were surprised they could hear here with an amazing clarity, as if they were standing right next to her.The last note lingered for a moment before it faded from the ears, but in the mind it found a home.
« Last Edit: February 11, 2010, 08:56:54 PM by Kalína Mërénwèn » Logged

Insanity is only a perception made by those who have yet to attain its greatness. While those of us who have already stepped inside its bounds find bliss in our utter madness.
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Ylaya
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« Reply #9 on: February 10, 2010, 06:14:04 AM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans (9PM)

The mood was lively at the ball and Ylaya approached with her disguise. She was not tense, she knew what had to be done, but was very watchful. Her eyes shifted from one side of the event to the other as food was piled on and souls sold for currency. Guards seemed to be everywhere, but then again, she was really only just focusing on them and searching for her target. If all was going to go smoothly her precision had to be perfect and her escape errorless if success was to be achieved.

Yet it appeared her quarry had not arrived yet and Ylaya took a seat on the side of the dance floor. Under her black mask she watched, feeling that the dress she wore was some what uncomfortable, but she could deal with it for a short time. Her long ears seemed to fit the shape of the mask so well that few even noticed them and there by noticing her origin or race. As for the rest of her feature, her dark hair streamed down the back of her dress and she crossed her legs. This had better not take all night she thought as she ran one of her gloved hands through her hair twisting it round one of her fingers, partly out of boredom.

This action apart from keeping her mind from drifting into total boredom strangely attracted the eyes of another masked individual. This man behind her seemed rather drunk and had also had a great time dancing away the night. Now he looked upon the lonely girl sitting in a chair by herself as the perfect new dance partner to keep things ever changing and lively. His eyes lit up, she had a good form.

Slowly moving from behind he tapped her on the shoulder to her surprise. Who was this? She looked around keeping the mask over her face, eyes still partly in shock, she had actually thought her cover had been blown...but this was even worse.

"Can I offer you a dance my young lady"
he said with a certain charm and charisma…not that such qualities Ylaya respected or sought worthy to even try on her.

Ylaya looked at him with a lack of enthusiasm for his offer. Yet another rich merchant, perhaps more mobile than the last but she had ultimately had enough of these fools. They lacked an understanding of people and let alone brains. He was obviously rich judging from his garment, but she had gotten already all the money she needed...plus she had work to do.

“Well, I don’t think…” she began before…suddenly without anytime to react she was pulled up by him by hands around her waste and his hands joined with hers as he swept her over to the dance floor. How could he do such a thing against her will? She was shocked and even looked around embarrassed as he took her spinning round with him. In comparison to the other ladies her garment seemed a bit less than incredible, but no one seemed to care, especially not him.

From the dance floor Ylaya had little or no control of the situation but as he moved around she watched and gave him the thrill he desired, but soon, she would need to cut him loose...
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Salkazrian
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« Reply #10 on: February 10, 2010, 07:55:58 AM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans (9PM)

   The crying child was close, now, Salkazrian could hear its wailing coming from the next hut.  Carefully, she moved towards the door, her sword still drawn, and her breath still ragged.  She didn’t want to frighten the child, but there might be an enemy nearby.

   Entering the dim room, Salkazrian quickly scanned it for trouble, but it was more than apparent that the raiders had already gone.  Several bodies lay on the dirt floor, hacked down and left to rot.

   The sole survivor was a young boy, bent over the battered corpse of a woman, probably his late mother.  Salkazrian sheathed her sword, crouched down, and slowly edged closer to the distraught child.  With soothing sounds she approached him, trying not to make him panic and run.  He didn’t seem to notice her at all; his head was still bent close to the dead woman’s body.  With painstaking tenderness, Salkazrian reached out a hand to stroke his hair.  There wasn’t even a flinch as she made contact.  Then, the boy turned his head to face this new intruder of his family’s home, and Salkazrian gasped in horror.

   Huh!!!

   Suddenly, the room was gone, but the boy’s face wasn’t.  His empty eye sockets stared morbidly at Salkazrian as she adjusted to her new environment.  Then, with a curse, she lay back onto the unusually soft bed that Clarissa Solosis had provided for her.

   It was always a mistake to lie down on a bed like this after a big dinner.  Salkazrian often had vivid dreams when she slept in the afternoon, and today had proved no different.  It was dark outside, already, and she knew that she must have slumbered longer than intended.  Still, if her body clock was right, and it usually was, then she still had enough time to get ready for her night’s duty.

   After washing her face, and having a quick stretch, the Seyelite officer felt much better.  The ghosts from her past had vanished, replaced by the responsibilities of her present.  Clarissa was an old friend; an intelligent lady, who had made her fortune through having a shrewd sense of business.  A masquerade party was just her kind of scene, especially when some of the most important and powerful people of the known world were to be there.  Salkazrian smiled briefly as she remembered that Clarissa had told her that even the King would be present!  Yes, tonight was going to be a special occasion, and Salkazrian was glad to have the opportunity to attend.  Of course, since she’d been hired as a bodyguard, Clarissa’s safety was her most important consideration.  Still, it was a fairly easy duty; business people could be mean, but they didn’t usually kill each other.  Well, not at such high profile events, anyway.

   Looking in the ornate, full length mirror, Salkazrian adjusted the small badge at the front of her skirt.  Since she was on duty, she had dressed in her usual uniform; leather skirt, boots, red breast binding, sword belt, and a red tunic over the top.  With a nod of satisfaction, she looked back over her temporary room to make sure that all was in order.

   “Ah!  How could I forget?”  She thought to herself when she saw the blood red mask that Clarissa had given her.  It was a fairly simple, yet elegant design, and Salkazrian was glad to see that a length of twine had been added so that she wouldn’t have to hold it up all night.  Even still, she’d need help putting it on, and so she left the bedroom, in search of Clarissa.

   “Ah!  Salk!  There you are!  I trust you rested well?”

   Clarissa was dressed in a fine green dress.  The way it gracefully followed the curves of her body, and the slight shimmer it gave off, suggested that it was pure spilk.

   “Yes, Clarissa; very well, thank you.”  Salkazrian didn’t like to tell others of her nightmares.  “But you look gorgeous!”  She added, running an admiring eye over her friend’s luxurious dress.

   “Oh, really?  Thank you!  I had it made especially for tonight.  Tell me, what do you think of the mask?”

   Clarissa held a light green mask to her face.  It was more elaborate than Salkazrian’s, and suited her flamboyant style.

   “I’m sure you’ll turn plenty of heads tonight,” Salkazrian said with a smile.  “Would you mind helping me with this?”

   “Oh, but of course!”  Clarissa said cheerfully as she fitted Salkazrian’s mask for her.

   “Now, we really should be going, they’ll have started already.”

   Clarissa led the way out of her house, and towards a waiting carriage.  Walking down the driveway, side by side, the two women seemed from two different worlds; Clarissa was a good fore shorter than her friend, and of a much more delicate build.

   “Even though I hired you to be my bodyguard,” Clarissa began as they entered the carriage.  “To tell the truth, I don’t really have much need of one.  So don’t get too serious; have some fun!  I’m really happy to just have your company; I haven’t seen you in ages!  And I thought that this would make a nice change for you.”

   “Aye, I thought as much,” Salkazrian said with a nod.  “I can’t imagine that anybody would want to hurt you.  But still, I’m officially here as your bodyguard, and I take my duty seriously.”

   “Oh!  I didn’t mean it like that.”

   Salkazrian smiled, and placed a reassuring hand onto her friend’s, noticing how soft her skin was in comparison to her own.

   “I know you didn’t, Clarry.  But there’s bound to be a lot of senior officers there tonight.  I don’t want to give off the wrong impression, so I’ll be sticking to the cha’ah!”

   Clarissa smiled mischievously.

   “Oh, okay, Salk,” she said with a wink.  “But I’ve heard that before!”

   Clarissa started to giggle, and Salkazrian couldn’t help but laugh.  She had indeed made that vow many times before, and almost always broken it.

   “It looks to me as though you’ve already had a few!”

   “Oh, well, just a couple, Salk.  But it’s a party!  I needed to get into the mood!”

   “I thought you were going for the business opportunities.”

   “Oh, yes, there is that, too!”

   Clarissa leant in closer to Salkazrian, and lowered her voice to a mock whisper.

   “Not to mention the men!”

   Salkazrian smiled; she’d never known her friend to have a relationship last longer than a few moons.

   “And who is it this time?”  she asked.

   “What do you mean by this time?  Well, okay, I do know what you mean!  Actually, there are a few I’ve got my eye on; not least of all, a certain Lord; by the name of Jarl Valdimarr!  Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard of him, he’s a fine looking man…”

   Salkazrian sat back, listening as her friend began to list the pros and cons of various potential mates.  It made her feel glad to be married to a good man already.  The challenges and intrigue of courting were far behind her.  And as Clarissa chattered on about family backgrounds, wealth, power, and charming ways, Salkazrian’s thoughts drifted back to her home, wondering what her husband would be doing.  He’d have put the girls to bed by now, and was more than likely playing cards with some of his friends.  “That’s what Clarry really needs,” she thought to herself, “a good man, who looks after the children, cooks well, and takes care of her home.”  But she knew that her typically Serphelorian ideals would be lost on a woman like Clarissa Solosis.  She was attracted by power, so it was no surprise that she’d mentioned a Lord.

   Eventually, the carriage slowed down, and came to a halt.  Looking out of the window, Salkazrian could see the Nermeran embassy, already buzzing with colourful figures.  “Well, here we go,” she thought to herself as she disembarked.  “I wonder what Seyella has in store for us tonight?”
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In military strategy, as in life itself, timing is everything!

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Ylaya
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« Reply #11 on: February 12, 2010, 05:52:10 AM »

Ylaya pranced and danced on the floor with him, only to keep him busy as she looked around. He was definitely starting to become a pain as under her happy smile and politeness a fire was getting out of hand. As one of his hands began to move onto her waist Ylaya tried desperately to put out the fire inside of her, he was too much to bear.

"You are a very talented dancer"
he said in a way that made her feel inferior as the music played louder and louder.

This comment just seemed to fan the flames as she tried so hard not to just pull the pin and use the concealed blades on him...how it was so tempting...but she could not.

The truth was that his talk was cheap and she knew that all he really wanted was to pull off her tight dress and enjoy her company. She so desperately wanted to ditch him but the music kept playing, she had to use his own creep talk against him...it was the only way she was going to get some control of move him off the dance floor.

"Oh, why thank you..." she said as she wrapped her gloved hands around his lower waist and moved him to the edge of the dance floor.

"...but I think you are even more talented" she said as she bit her lower lip and used her hands to push him slowly off the dance floor. She did not mind giving verbal concessions to men, as long as they gave her the reigns.

They were now backing onto the carpet and he was feeling hotter by the second, he wanted to take her away. His hand slowly moved lower until he touched her nice rounded bum...this attraction had gone too far ultimately and faces were turning in their direction...too much attention has already been gathered. It was time to use that attention against him.

Seeing one of the waiters a few seconds earlier carrying a tray full of drink she had picked one up and immediately poured it over his head the second he made inappropriate contact.

He jumped back, his eyes closing and opening as the red wine stained his white costume and ran down his hair. She leaned back onto a table and one of her gloved hands came up to cover her mouth, she was giggling at his misfortune, even though she had caused it. He took off his mask and due to his drunkenness raised his voice slightly.

"What do you think are playing at woman?" he said confident she was in the wrong. Some people looked over to see what all the fuss was about

She then stopped giggling and approached him to say "I'm not playing at anything my good sir..." she said with satisfaction in her comment.

"...but then again it was not me who made inappropriate advances was it sir" she continued. People and especially some of the older ladies looked at him in disgust. She had taught him a lesson he would never forget...that is unless he kept on drinking...but the lesson was that she was not there to be advanced upon...especially by a gross individual like him...in the end she made the advances.

He looked around partly embarrassed as she let off a smile that ripped through him and she walked away. He was left with a waiter trying to mop up the mess she had deliberately poured on him. Now in ditching the drunk in all his stained splendour she could get on with the task at hand, her blades were ready...where was the target?
« Last Edit: February 12, 2010, 05:52:43 AM by Ylaya » Logged

Drea
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« Reply #12 on: February 12, 2010, 08:21:01 AM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 2nd Hour of Guardorans (10PM)

Fruwee listened to Tristram, and prepared himself to take offence, when the buffoon was saved by the younger castellan bringing up issues of piracy in the Vardynn waters.  "I think that if we are to continue to prosper, that the shipping lanes must be safe for trade.  True, the Stormcloaks are the largest guild, but there are others that have expressed the same concerns.  This Delath fellow is still mostly in the south, so I think the Truban Ambassador is best to talk to on that.  Jovloff, however, I would like to see hanged for his trouble.  Perhaps we can see what we can come up with as far as combining our resources and tracking him down and bringing him to justice."

Fruwee could not help but look at the castellan's wife.  He was struck by her beauty, and was thankful that the mask he wore would cover any look that he might cast at her.  From what he could see, she was perfect.  He could not help but compare her flawless skin to the harelip of his wife.  He did not mean to, but it could not be helped.  He loved his wife, but for all that he tried, he was not in love with her.  She came from a great family, and her connections and his made the match one of perfect synchronicity.  It was a boon to both houses.  And she was a great wife, supporting him in everything he did.  Even providing him with a son very soon.

Fruwee listened as Moriah talked to Tylannah of the child within, and nodded as Tristram excused himself.  The castellan, Quinn, apologized for the ambassador, which Fruwee accepted with the appropriate aplomb.  "Of course.  So many hands to shake."  He then listened to Quinn question him about his staff.  This was strange.  Lord Ephron?  He hadn't any clue who Lord Ephron was.  "Yes, I'll introduce you to her."  He looked about until he saw the woman standing a few feet away, carefully watching Tylannah.  He waved at her, and catching her eye, she approached.

"Miss Drea Corfuyne, may I introduce you to Castellan Guillemot Quinn."

Drea, not entirely sure why this introduction was being made, extended her hand, which Quinn took and lightly kissed the back of it.  "I'm honoured to make your acquaintance, m'lord."

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

Tiring of the gossipping tongues of the wives, Tylannah made her way back to her husband.  If she knew him well enough, he would be growing tired of the hollow effusions himself.  He would need a small break, and so she had politely excused herself from the circle of women.  It was what made her and Fruwee so perfect together; they instinctively knew what each other wanted.  

He was surrounded by many other men, obviously the centre of attention due to his newfound appointment.  If he were to somehow lose that position, none of these same men would even give him the time of day.  It held true for any one of them.  They were only popular when they were important.  Did any of them actually have true friends?  Or even know what one was?

"Excuse me, gentlemen.  Can I steal my husband for a few moments?  I'll return him to you a bit later.  It seems his son is missing him."  She patted her extended belly.  Grabbing Fruwee by the arm, she lead him away from the crowd.

"Just in time," he whispered, leaning in close to her and kissing her earlobe.  "Does the baby stir?"

Tylannah giggled.  "He does now.  He can hear your voice."  She took his hand and placed it on her belly, where a moment later a small bump-bump could be felt.

"Strong.  He will be a great leader one day."  He stopped his walk and looked up, following the lead of many other people.  An acrobat was hanging from two long silk lengths of rope, while dressed in elaborate red feathers.  "Didn't we see him before?  I'm not sure...".

"Salsair.  We saw him at the Salsair Festival three years ago, yes.  He really is amazing.  You should get his name afterwards and have him perform at one of our parties."

Fruwee sighed. "Must we put on parties?"

Tylanna giggled.  "Of course?   How can we figure out who your greatest rivals are if we don't give them a chance to show themselves?  So far, all we know is that Ambassador Tristram is one."

Fruwee chuckled.  "You saw that?"

"Of course.  But he is not the one to worry about.  That redheaded man of his would be the one I would worry about, my love."

Yes, his wife was his equal in nearly every sense.  The redhead was the one to watch.  And the redhead's wife as well.  Though, for very different reasons.  

"Oh!  Do you hear that?"  Tylannah suddenly pulled her husband along.  She halted herself before a porcelain skinned elfess who was playing a harp and singing in a voice so beautiful, Tylannah felt tears welling up in her eyes, though she did not understand the words.  

Fruwee listened, but did not hear the beauty in the sounds as deeply as his wife.  Other thoughts occupied him.  "Corfuyne.  Has she said anything to you that seemed strange, or out of place?"

Only partially paying attention to her husband, Tylannah shook her head.  "No, why?"  She continued to listen to the elfess and watched the nimble fingers expertly pluck the strings of the harp.

"Nothing.  Just thinking."  Was she a spy?  He knew there would be some in the embassy.  Which reminded him, he would need to talk to that stump of a man Aeris and find out where their spies were placed.  He had no doubt the little man would have a network of them.

The elfess had finished her song and Tylannah clapped, though a bit awkwardly while trying to keep holding her mask in place.  "My, that was wonderful.  What is your name?  I don't recognize the language."

Fruwee sighed.  He had heard that tone of voice in his wife many times before.  By morning, they would have a harp player on the embassy staff.
« Last Edit: February 12, 2010, 08:57:19 AM by Drea » Logged

Drea's CD

Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
Foraste Lydan
Traveling Compendiumist
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Human, Erpheronian


« Reply #13 on: February 13, 2010, 07:28:30 AM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans (9PM)

Foraste finished buttoning his jacket. He felt vulnerable in the compendium uniform, he had worn it so little it still had the creases from when it was presented to him.  The dwarf had been very specific, a maskerade ball, fancy outfits and masks. He was in the city looking for work at the Vardynn embassy. He left Thad in the tavern room with instructions not to steal anything. The Ximaxian rat only scurried into the darkness, likely trying to find a way out of the second rate tavern. The embassy was located in the better end of the city, a ways from his second rate apartment. He arrived halfway through Tenebrume and walked up to the door attendant.

"Invitation please", stated the attendant. I'm going to kill that dwarf when I find him, Foraste thought darkly, he didn't mention an invitation. Thinking quickly Foraste procured his compendium license and pointed at the embossed book on his uniform.

"I was sent here by the compendium to chronicle the event, everything is explained in that letter."

The attendant glanced at the paper and grunted,"very well, you can go in." Thank Armeros he couldn't read, Foraste thought as he walked inside. He looked at the massive crowd, putting on his plain gray mask, time to mingle.

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd hour of Guardorans (11pm)

Foraste manged to extricate himself from what seemed like the hundredth minor lord trying to acquire a place in the history books and finally found himself near Ambassador Fruwee. He seemed to have just escaped from the gaggle himself. He was admiring an elven musician with his wife. Foraste walked over and waited to see what they thought of the elf's enchanting music.
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If you won't take my money, how about a write up?

Foraste Lydan
Ylva Rasmussan
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Human, Murmillion.


« Reply #14 on: February 14, 2010, 09:30:43 AM »

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 2nd Hour of Guardorans (10PM)

The ambassador appeared not to mind sending for the bodyguard, a woman who, Quinn noticed, made her way through the crowd with a natural confidence, which the posing gossipy women around her lacked.
"Miss Drea Corfuyne, may I introduce you to Castellan Guillemot Quinn."

The young woman extended her hand, which Quinn kissed lightly. "I'm honoured to make your acquaintance, m'lord."

As the young Fruwees left to mingle. The castellan glanced over at his wife, who, taking the hint, just rolled her eyes and left as well, joining the gaggle of ambassadors’ wives, still watching from afar, curious as to why her husband wanted to converse secretly with this beautiful woman.

Alone, Quinn could finally confront the faker,
“Miss Corfuyne, I felt obligated to introduce myself to a relative of Lord Ephron. I was sad to hear of his death. You are his relative aren’t you? I haven’t made a mistake?”

The castellan waited for clarification with a charming smile, then carried on his explanation.
“I met him several years ago at the Knight’s parliament. Believe me, he won’t have mentioned me…but I was surprised to hear about you.” The castellan lowered his head and whispered coldly. “Considering the man died with no living relations.”



Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)


The night wore and Moriah Quinn paced the hall elegantly, greeting friends and curtsying to dignitaries. As always, the dignified event was slowly descending into a circus show. Drinks were thrown at those with wandering hands, lovers scurried off to dark corners to reaffirm their undying love. Here, ambition, scandal and intrigue reigned.

Strolling quickly past a bunch of clowns in garish green, and ducking underneath swaves of drapery, the castellan’s wife found herself in a rather peaceful spot where a sole elven harpist played and a few people gathered to listen, seeking sanctuary from the hubbub of the rest of the ball.

Missus Quinn spotted Lord Tristram, slowly edging towards the compendiumist that was here tonight. He shouldn’t have worn the uniform, it acts as a beacon for climbers…The young woman watched amused as she heard the ambassador start up a conversation with the poor writer. “So you’re here to put my party into the archives!” Moriah grimaced on behalf of the young man who, like the rest of them, probably longed to just listen to the beautiful music. Not, in her opinion, to be bothered by vilerats like Belenos.

Scanning the room, the young lady spied one of her many ‘best’ friends, waving at her. Lady Kaitrin of Lorehaven, a true romantic, biggest mouth around and unable to keep a secret, including her own. “Moriah, how lovely to see you.”
“Kaitrin.” They kissed eachothers’ cheeks in a polite way, without showing any actual affection towards each other.

“Has darling Clarissa arrived yet?”

Moriah smiled, everyone was called darling by Kaitrin, from her friends to her enemies, who, very often, were the one and the same. “I do not know, my dear. But I’m sure she’ll arrive fashionably late once her tailor is done.” Both women took the chance to study the others’ costume. Kaitrin had chosen a lavish deep violet gown, with a swirling patterned bodice, heartshaped neckline and sleeves that splayed out from her shoulders like purple fountains.
While Moriah’s dress of lightest cerubell was of a much humbler design with just a simple square neckline.

“My husband tells me that Lord Valdimarr is here.”

“Why, everywhere I wander at this ball, do hear that name? What is so wondrous about this man that the whole room whispers his name like he is a myth or a will‘o’whisp?”

“Apparently he has the Santhran’s ear.”

“Every noble from here to Cape Strata claims that. You are a fool if you believe such a thing.”


“Well, everyone respects him, there are whispers of him becoming a general, maybe even one of the grandmasters….and he’s very handsome….” Her friend’s voice dwindled off.

Moriah scoffed, “Again foolish belief, all young nobles men are stated to be ‘very handsome’, yet I have not seen one yet that proves to be such.“

Kaitrin shrugged, and spotted the most popular topic for gossip at the moment, the Fruwees, nearby. “The new ambassador is quite handsome too.”

The castellan's wife followed her friend's gaze over to the pretty couple. “He also has a wife. Take care to you remember such details, otherwise your honour might take a bruising...”

The young Lady of Lorehaven sulked, “I’m just noting it Moriah…”

They watched, nosily, as the Vardynn ambassador kissed the side of his wife’s face.

Moriah remembered how it feels to be truly loved like that. Now the young woman was left holding onto a bridge, wishing her own husband would kiss her the way Fruwee kissed his wife.

It was a night like this that she’d met Guillemot. The place had been packed with nobles and soldiers, young men trying to court her with fancy words and charming smiles. And there he had been. Back then he’d been an ‘information and diplomacy envoy’, whatever that meant. The castellan’s daughter used to spot him and his skinny companion, Dorian, as they went to report to her father. The young Moriah had watched as he'd stood at the sidelines, spying on the world as it made a fool of itself. The only one who hadn’t chased her, so she’d chased him and caught him.

But that had been three years ago. Once, she’d been the pride of Goutonch, remarked as the most refined and graceful graduate of the school, Moriah Ourelleas, daughter of Sir Tomas Ourelleas. Now her world felt like it had been hollowed out, all that was left was a bleak empty space.

The young woman stared at her counterpart sharing an intimate moment with her husband.

“Moriah?”
The young lady turned to see her own husband holding out his hand, “I apologize for the wait; I believe I owe you a dance.” Leaving her young friend to gossip others, the wife smiled serenely at her husband as he led her to the dance floor.

As his own wife fell into discussion with the harp player, Moriah peeped over her husband’s shoulder to cast a long lingering glance at the tall young ambassador. The young noble was probably a better dancer than her husband and his rigid steps; suddenly the young woman found herself wondering what it would be like to dance with him.
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