Iskiela: Unity [Chapter 1 | Arrival]

[Fiona]

[fieldbox="Cora, #c0c0ff, dashed, 10"]

Cora hadn't really spent a lot of time with children in the course of her life, but they were certainly cute, and they could talk about things that rivalled some of the more imaginative images that mama users saw in their personal trips. This little boy was no exception, perking up after a long few minutes of Cora talking to 'mister soldier' who had looked completely out of his depth the entire time. He became quite the little chatterbox as soon as the soldier was involved and the quiet promise of mummy being found was a promise shared.

"Miss Cora?" There was a soft, curious tone laced through with the usual faintly coaxing, wheedling inflections that indicated a question was coming after it.

"Mmm? What is it, buddy?" Cora immediately crouched down, the dress she'd worn pooling slightly about her as she hit his level to talk.

"Why are your ears all pointy? Are you a fairy?"

"Oh, have you never seen pointy ears before? Here, you can touch if you want." Cora let him explore the little points, not even blinking as he tugged and touched. "They're not really for anything, they just mean my mother likes some special plants, that's all. Do you think other people will think I'm a fairy?" Even if she didn't see anything wrong with the recreational use of mama lulu, this was someone else's child and the one thing she had learned with Jorgen and the rest of the Praxus entourage was that some people did not approve at all. Perhaps best not to introduce a foreign child to the substance.

"If you're not a fairy are you going to the… the… are you an hair for the oonity?" Cora didn't correct him as he butchered the phrase, but just smiled and nodded in response. When there were no further questions for the moment, she rose back to her feet, still lightly holding the child's hand. Off to one side she could see the soldiers of Amberholm debating how they were meant to go and find the child's parents while doing their own jobs. Furtive glances back at her came every so often and Cora smiled blissfully brightly in response, which tended to turn the eyes away and incite another round of whispering. At length, one of them finally started off in a random direction, apparently caving to her demand for them to find 'Mummy'.

It took a while longer, and the woman Cora had wanted to find didn't show up with a soldier. The larger of the two was clearly the child's mother, and she was supported by a smaller, somewhat slighter individual. Oh, she'd been hurt… That made a measure of sense and the anger from earlier felt quite silly now, dreadfully judgemental as it had been. They rushed up to her, the pair of them, the larger woman so clearly agitated that Cora didn't doubt her for a second. Dominic's faintly tear-stained face lit up as Mummy arrived and he reached for the hand before Cora had time to even say hello. She lightly released the boy to his mother.

"That's okay! I'm just glad you're back, my little buddy here was missing you something horrid, weren't you Dominic?" Cora didn't really react to the faint aggression that had come from the mother, understanding that impulse. She'd briefly felt it herself when she thought that the boy had just been left alone for no reason. "You take care of mummy, okay? She looks like she might need your help for a little while." The little boy nodded from his place attached to Tansy's side, clinging at his mother now rather than Cora and suddenly a lot quieter. He'd just remembered he wasn't really supposed to talk to strangers and had locked his little mouth. The Princess' attention turned to the younger woman now. Sizing her up she seemed… more than a little harassed. Hmm…

"Hey, Paddy?" The man she'd slowly but surely started addressing as 'Paddy' rather than Patrick responded with just "Aye, Little Star?" "Could you escort my little buddy and his mummy home? Stay about for a little while, make sure they're getting on alright before you come back, okay?" "Ayup, will do… Here, you want me to take her from you?" The last sentence from the farm boy was angled at Lorelei rather than Cora, but the tone was the same. Fairlea's folk didn't seem to give two hoots about station, for all the titles Cora had and the finery she wore. As soon as Patrick had Tansy mostly supported he set off at a faintly brisk pace, leaving Lorelei and Cora.

"You looked so shell-shocked, thought maybe you could use a break after that," Cora smiled, apparently happy enough for an idle chat to happen rather than to go through the parade quite yet. No sense in rushing; someone would come get her if she took too long. [/fieldbox]

 

[LVL1337N00B]

[fieldbox="The Wulfsson's Arrival, #436c84, solid, 5, Trebuchet MS"]

Travellers on the roads between Amberholm and Felskarr were especially tense this day, as well as a few before it. Merchants' wares were secured tightly and hidden beneath sheets, their caravans protected by many more guards than were usually necessary to fend off highwaymen and their like. Many residents of villages along the way locked themselves inside their homes, those with business to attend outside prepared to bolt at any minute. Rogvar need not ask why, possessing enough self-awareness to answer the question for himself.

Felskarrans rarely strayed far from home without a full raiding party, but seeing two of the barbaric nation's men lumbering down the road alongside a small pack of armored wolves was well more than enough to be fearful of. Of the Wulffson clan in particular, each man boasted the strength ten men, and those like young Rogvar, like to be the closest thing to a general among Felskarran warriors, claimed the strength of hundreds. Exaggerations to be certain, but there was no doubting the fierceness of a Slayer-of-Men.

"Gunnar", the blonde-bearded warrior addressed the man at his side, the one person assigned to his detail. Rogvar could protect himself, but his father insisted that the man's counsel was valuable. "We near the great Hall of Amber."

"Yes. We arrive as the sun still hangs over our heads", his travelling companion answered. The older man turned his gaze toward the towering structure in the distance, slowing to a full stop. "Rogvar."

The younger man halted his movement as well, turning to face his companion. The men regarded each other with serious expressions, both knowing what was soon to come. The Unity. Rogvar would be granted several wives in exchange for upholding peace between each nation taking part in the ceremony. A fair enough trade, the muscle-bound Felskarran thought, though not a necessary one. His father's pursuit of peace was something he could understand, but he did not share in the man's desire. He would honor it, however, as frustrating as it might be to do so.

"You must prove yourself better than your kin. Show them our people are worthy of their Unity", Gunnar urged him, pounding the side of his fist against Rogvar's barreled chest. "It is king Krogvir who will lead us forward, and you, his honored son who will secure his means to do so. This is a good thing you do for our people."

"So you say, Gunnar. So say all of you who grow weary in their old age." Rogvar spat on the ground. "It would befit a warrior more to live and die on the field of battle than planted firmly upon his ass making talk of peace."

"Rogvar-"

"But I will not betray my father's wishes. We go now. Much time has been wasted."

Not much time actually had been wasted, in truth, but Rogvar would speak no more of the subject. Better to move on, to reach the city quickly, take claim of his wives and be done with the Unity. Silence would befall the two brutes, broken only on occasion when the wolves let their nature get the better of them. Just as Gunnar predicted, the small group of beasts and beastly men would reach the gates well before nightfall.

[/fieldbox]

 

[Lusterine]

[fieldbox="Frigid Fingers & Frigid Feelings, violet, solid, 6, Georgia"]

Dalia of Lura​

The heiress of Lura clutched her thick wool coat tightly to her body. It was a poor attempt to stay warm. All the same, Dalia longed to return home to Lura. Though the desert never failed to cause a chill at night, it was those overly warm days that made the difference. Those blessed rays would seep down to the bones- warming the body through the night without fail. The sun. Dalia glanced at the sky. The radiant sphere looked the same, after all, but the heiress could not help but feel bitter. Though the land around her was quite green with life, nothing could compare to golden sheen of the desert sand, the soft bloom of a cactus flower, or freshness of the cool blue oasis. The longing made her heart hurt. So, she clenched her teeth and looked aimlessly up. She needed a distraction from her own, sinful thoughts.

Had Dalia been a less obedient child, she might have thrown a fit at the whole situation. Lura tended towards isolationist policies. They may trade with other countries, but much beyond economic needs, the theocracy rarely strayed into another's businesses. Or so, she thought. There were whispers of another Unification among the younger priestesses, but Dalia was far too busy to care for such gossip. Looking back, she cringed at her cluelessness. Her mother had assigned her temple duties with the older women for a reason. Dalia's immediate impulse was to lash out at her mother, because how dare she throw her own daughter away for an already achieved peace. She felt like a fool. Fifty years had passed, but Dalia had thought... nothing. Her thoughts and opinions on any matter were second to any guidance from her mother. Though her mother was the High Priestess, and she the Blessed Daughter, all she ever wanted was to be treated as a daughter and not as just another priestess. But yet, she was whatever her mother desired her to be- assistant, servant, daughter, or tool.

Thus, Dalia, too eager to please her mother and Goddess, found herself more than a month and half's journey from her beloved Lura and only an hour away from their destination, Amberhall. From the very beginning, the trip had been a disaster. Unused to travel by boat, Dalia had gotten ill as she and her retinue made their way down from the mountains that separated the lush greenery from the golden desert.

Try as anyone might, she could not help but be sick the majority of the leg. She prayed and prayed for her Goddess's intervention, but Dalia felt no relief. It was then, beyond everything- secrecy and 'betrayal' from her mother, that the young woman felt as if she was entering a Goddessless land, and further blessings from Her will not flow. It was then that, the ever sheltered, Dalia felt loneliness and fear. Her future was uncertain.

A bit longer than they had originally anticipated, the small group of five- three guards, a chambermaid, and herself, made it safely to Amberhall. Thankfully, there had been no skirmishes. Dalia doubted that the group would have been able to handle any confrontation with experienced criminals. Punishment in Lura was severe. Laws were clear and fair. Though, if there would be any discrepancies, Dalia would not know. Most of the little punishments were handled by lower temples. While she loved to believe in the justness of her own country, that aspect of life for the average day citizen was unknown to her. Nevertheless, the heiress was relieved to be done with travel.

Amberhall was nice, but why did the city have to be so cold?

[/fieldbox]

 

[Falcon]

[fieldbox="Aljoar Si'Marone - The Shadow at Dusk, lightslategrey, solid, 10"]

The Foot of the Mountain Pass
​

According to Goliah, Aljoar waited too long to make the several hour trek down the mountain.

By all reports Goliah had always been an impatient man, fortunately his impatiences was wearing off on only Wormael. The little rat of a servant was seated on his horse fiddling with two sticks and a bit of string that he called knitting. But Aljoar had learned long ago that it was a nervous habit.

The other three men, two guards from Leal'cline and Dimatreal, had dismounted and seemed to be casting dice on the ground. The game and the wager had escaped Aljoar's notice. He was crouched on top a rock outcropping with a spyglass watching the gates in the distance and scratching three days growth of beard. Somewhere behind him the two servants, both youngsters in their late-teens, fiddled with the bags on the pack horses.


"My lord are you really set on being the last person to enter the gates?" a voice grizzled with years of smoking spoke behind him. When Aljoar turned he was not surprised to find Ser Goliah had his pipe between his teeth and was puffing away in a rhythm that implied even the smoke was antsy. "Dimatreal's information was invaluable true, but waiting serves no purpose at this point."

"The more that arrive before us the better I know where the pieces on the board lay," Aljoar answered simply.

His answer was greeted with a huff. "And my old bones were hoping for a proper bed tonight. Never-mind a warm body to share it with."

Aljoar raised an eyebrow at the last part but Goliah only furrowed his brow in response. They stared at each other like that for a long moment before Aljoar finally sighed.

"All right. I'll settle for being the last there before proper sundown. Mount up." The last was a loud call to everyone that was immediately obeyed.

"A fitting arrival," Dimatreal joked with a jovial smile. "We'll arrive at dusk, the Shadow arrives at dusk . . . reminds me of a poem .. . 'While some may praise the light of morning reflected in dew, and others the busy call of high noon, give me dusk when shadows fall, and the uncertain between reflected in twilight' ..."

"Where did you come from?" came a grumble from Wormael not quite soft enough to be under his breath, "you and your philosophers."
Dimatreal only smiled.

Aljoar didn't even bother to comment as the party road out from the foot of the pass and took the fork that lead to the bridge road and the gates of Amberholm. He could feel the tension settling between his shoulders and a touch of anxiety in his chest. He hadn't felt like this since he was a young boy and his father handed him over to the guard for weapons training, training that included live steal. This was not supposed to be him. He had never intended to marry, certainly never to father a child, and now both were not only expected but required.

As they rode he pulled up his hood hiding his face deep within. As they drew near the city, horse hooves ringing on the stones of the great bridge, he let his horse drop behind Dimatreal's putting the other man in the lead. The mercenary was clearly enjoying the prospect of the fanfair that awaited them now they could see clearly the party waiting at the gates to greet the arrivals. If he thought he could get away with it Aljoar would have entered secretly by night. The prospect of losing his anonymity was a daunting one.

Yet as he looked ahead his eyes focused on Dimateal's back and a plan began to form. "Dimatreal,"

"Yes, My lord?"

"When we are greeted and paraded through the streets, let the people think, for a few hours at least, that you led this party." Behind him Wormael began to protest, but a pleased grunt from Goliah silenced the sniveling man and put a stamp of approval on the idea.

And so it was that the Heir to Emantaline was ushered through the the streets of Amberholm with the mob ignoring him entirely to favor a member of his guard instead.

​

​

[/fieldbox]

​

 

[Mundane Monster]

[fieldbox="Lorelei Kyth, #364a35, solid"]
It took Lorelei a moment to grasp the fact that she wasn't being reprimanded for approaching and interacting with someone league's above her station. It's not as though punishment for being too familiar with royals was a common occurrence in Amberholm, but she still expected...Well not this. This stunning woman was shockingly benevolent and addressed Lorelei as if they were equals! The apprentice found herself smiling back shyly, and laughing a bit. "Yes, thank you. I thought I'd have to treat myself for a broken arm for a second there." She said in relief. Tansy had been leaning on her heavily and at one point Lorelei's arm had started to tingle and go numb.

Squeezing her arm gently, Lorelei took a moment to take in the royal before her. She didn't have as big of an entourage that Lorelei thought most heirs would have. It sort of looked like she'd passed a farm on her way to the Unification and the inhabitants had just trailed along behind her, however the woman's interactions with 'Paddy' told her otherwise. The next thing Lorelei noticed was the woman's ears--Well actually that was the first thing she had noticed but she had tried not to scrutinize them too much. "Are you...If you don't mind me asking..." How did her father tell her to address royals? "Milady...?" Was that it or was it my lady? Did it even matter? "Are you the heir from Fairlea?" She inquired.
[/fieldbox]

@Fiona

 

[Helios]

[fieldbox="Bailer Jarlsson- The Lords work., #850808, solid, 5, Georgia"]

Hooves cut the air. Every hard, labored breath was a shower of mist over the frosty meadow. A single rider moved with his great black warhorse, a spear balanced perfectly in-hand over his right shoulder. A man was running, stumbling. His glimpses back at the horse and rider were marred with panic. He was making a break for the next batch of woods. The trees were his only hope. Yet with every trembling step that hope faded. The hoofs were louder. The helpless man could feel the pain of air in his lungs like cold iron. He had reached the trees but his body could give no more. He leaned on the damp mossy bark, he wanted this to be a dream he could wake up from.

Shhhthunk.

The spear split forcefully into his back.

The hoof steps softened. Its rider dropped to the earth with a clanking of leather. The impaled man could hear the footsteps, the drawing of the sword. "The Lord sends his wishes."

His head rolled gently in the wet morning dew.

Out of the fog three riders appeared similarly fashioned to the man on his feet. "What happened!" one of the riders cried. His youth was betrayed by the horrified crack in his voice.

"We got him. Strength and honor brothers." The dismounted knight replied plainly as he stuffed the bloodied orb into a knapsack.

"What in the His Majesty's name are you doing!?"

"In the His Majesty's name I am keeping our lands safe!" The reply was shot back with more passion. The three horsemen dismounted, the smallest of them still kept his distance from the scene. The other two men cracked soft smiles as they casually began dislodging the fugitive from his perch. Their long golden hair betrayed their siblinghood even beneath their northern style helmets.

"Strong throw Bailer, the brothels will be missing this one."

"More for us." His twin replied.

"More for the heirs you mean. Marriage is just a title." Bailer interjected, a smile returning to his worn face. He patted one of the towheaded warriors warmly behind the neck as they returned his spear. "Don't bother digging the grave too deep. I'm quite a fan of dogs and it's a shame we keep them so hungry." Bailer looked to the still distant boy for a laugh. He found none.

The child looked like a scarecrow in his oversized armor, mortified at the carcass and perhaps more afraid of the group's candor. "Look boy, I took off his head so that his…co-workers couldn't identify him. It's northern rules boy. If you make a martyr you multiply your problems; but in the world of thieves, the only thing more dangerous than not knowing your orders is trying to replace your boss when you're not certain he's gone. This is a known bad man. A man we've been looking for. Just now we saw him rob that traveler a stone's throw from old Berel's place. His fleeing only proves his guilt." Bailer approached the young man and grabbed him hard by the shoulder, like a father coaching a child.

"Peace isn't won by rich folk bumping uglies, or Fairlean pipegrass; it's won in the trenches on the edge of a sword. If you don't like that then find you a field and go plant some crop, leave it to better men." Bailer returned to the others as they drug the headless meat into leaf litter. The boy approached apprehensively but did not participate. Bailer shot back with a playful scowl.

"You think these cutthroats are going to take holiday just because the heirs are here?? Think of the ransom any one of these pretty kings and queens would cough. What if one ends up dead while walking in our woods? You know who is to blame? Not just Amberholm, or the Watch, it'll be on you.

So tell me boy, which country's wrath would you prefer? Keen to be sacrificed to some sand god, eaten by scorpion witches? Drawn and quartered by Emantaline hooves? Flayed alive and used as a sail? Pick your poison boy… or let the Aurum do it for you, if you let their daughter die then gods know they would. This continent is an open pot of Freehold fire-powder. Every nation has sat about healing its wounds, growing their strength, shaking hands, and whispering lies. The spectacle of this unification is just a torch waiting to light that cool black dust. If we don't do our job, this place will burn."

[/fieldbox]

 

[Fiona]

@Mundane Monster
[fieldbox="Cora & Lorelei, #c0c0ff, dashed, 10"]

Again there was a short, slightly-stunned silence from the young woman with the wavy hair; Cora wondered if she was behaving drastically differently from the various heirs that had been through already, or perhaps even from Amberholm's own heir. Perhaps… She'd seen already that the political climate was entirely alien to her outside her own home, so that was a reasonable assumption. Still, she wasn't about to change her actions to meet a negative expectation! She just kept that nice, bright smile on her face as she waited for Lorelei to find her words. Didn't take too long, and when they came they were accompanied by a slight touch of laughter that boosted up Cora's spirits. A question came next.

"It was meant to be my big brother, Artemis, you know," she responded, her gaze trapped against Lorelei's face but not really seeing it at all as she spoke. "Arty was the one that was given all the lessons and kind of resented Mama and Papa for them. He couldn't go out and horse about with the lads if he was learning the political map of the country, and he couldn't really smoke at night like he wanted or he'd oversleep his lessons. You wouldn't think it to look at him, mind, Arty had a bigger smile than even I do…" Cora hadn't really spoken about her brother since the accident and found that there was a lump developing in her throat. She'd shoved all thought of him away on the way here and been easily distracted by Jorgen and his entourage, but asked about home it kind of just filtered back into place.

She took a deep breath, shaking her head slightly as if she could dislodge the thought just by the motion. The smile slowly re-emerged on her face, albeit perhaps a touch less on the deeply heartfelt and shiny side now. "You… you didn't ask for all that," she mumbled at length. "I'm sorry. To give a straight answer, yes, I'm now Fairlea's heiress. Also, you don't need to call me milady; Cora or Little Star are fine, whichever you prefer. Titles just separate you from people and I don't like them for that reason. Papa only ever uses his in the throne room and that seems like a good way to do it."

Once again, Lorelei was shocked into silence and awe. She would have never expected this type of behavior from an heir but it kind of pleased her. But it also worried her because what if her behavior was seen by others as rude and distasteful? She didn't want to burden her father with claims of her overstepping her bounds and consorting with royalty. But at the same time...Lorelei couldn't just end the conversation! And even though it might seem to others like she was pushing her limits, she wanted to forge some sort of bond with this woman. Growing up, Lorelei hadn't had many friends, mainly because she was always trailing behind her father trying to soak up any knowledge he bestowed upon her. In hindsight, she should have made a bigger effort to play with the children her age, but at the time she had been mesmerized by all the different herbs and remedies her father used on his patients. She'd always thought to herself, "I'll play with George tomorrow," or "I'll visit Lila when Father finishes with this sick lady." but that had never happened, and before she knew it, she was a grown woman pursuing an apprenticeship, unable to play games or chatter with friends.

Of course, an heir wasn't the best option for a companion, but it was close. This particular heir--err Cora-- trusted Lorelei enough to share her personal stories with, which made Lorelei even more keen to befriend her.

"Sometimes, it's best to share our saddest stories, milad--Cora. Although I don't have a tale to offer you in return--" She paused, unsure if she should tell a joke to lighten the mood or ask Cora how she liked Amberholm. Speaking of-- "Oh! You've just arrived, haven't you? You're probably tired! Or did you want a tour? I have to return to my father's stand but there are many interesting sights along the way, if you were interested?"

Off to one side, one of the multiple farm-boys visibly facepalmed; the offer had been made and there was no way back now, not knowing her like he did… Sure enough, Cora's slightly-dimmed expression suddenly turned bright once more at the suggestion. If there was one thing their princess liked, it was spending time with people and making friends. She'd put off anything if it meant another ten minutes with someone who looked like they might just become a buddy.

"I didn't really do much of the work! My horse did more than I did, poor dear. She?" Here Cora glanced back at one of the remaining farmhands who wasn't currently facepalming. "No, he. Remember, you had to change his name to Harry instead of Hannah after Ambitor Jorgen told you that he wasn't a she?" "Ooh, right… yeah, so he did all the work! I'm still good to wander about and have fun, though! I mean, Angel over there can manage getting everyone stabled up, right?" She turned her best pleading expression off to the man whose face was buried in his hand and was rewarded with a silent nod. "Angel doesn't like talking much," she whispered conspiratorially to Lorelei behind a hand, though the whisper was loud and clearly a good-natured prod at the frustrated young man.

"In any case, never mind him, I'd like to go back with you, just see what's going on. What does your father do?" She smiled and waited for the girl to lead the way, unfamiliar as she was with the territory.

Once again Lorelei watched Cora but this time with a growing fondness instead of awe. The woman truly seemed to care for her subjects and treat them like...Friends. It was bizarre but nice. With an excited grin, Lorelei offered Cora her arm and began to chatter on happily. "My father is an apothecary, as am I--Well I'm an apprentice--but I'm going to take over his business in the future, helping all the people of Amberholm with their many ailments." As they walked Lorelei would pause briefly to point out different shops or answer Cora's questions.[/fieldbox]

 

[Falcon]

Collab with @Fiona

[fieldbox="Maria and Aljoar - Accidental Meetings, darksalmon, solid, 10"]

Aljoar knew when he snuck out of the Emantaline residence that no one on his staff would be happy with him. But it was necessary. He couldn't take one more person telling him about the comforts brought from home, one more lecture from Goliah on the other nations' customs he might not be familiar with, one more outfit Wormael wanted him to try on that was better fitting an heir than the travel robes he currently wore. He needed to clear his head, needed someplace quiet and unused, and at the moment in this unfamiliar city, Aljoar could think of only one place.

The ceremonial hall would be unused at this time, and he doubted any other heir would think to seek refuge in the place they all dreaded would seal their fate. And so it was that after donning a clean set of travel robes, much to Wormael's dismay, he climbed out of his upper story bedroom window and scaled the stone wall up to the roof. The stones of this building were roughly laid, so there were plenty of holds for a man like him. And from the roof -- well from the roof the layout was clear, the dome of the ceremonial hall easily visible in the distance. Unfortunately, however, it was plain he was going to have to approach by foot. The roof-ways here were not so close as his home city to make for easy travel, and the closer to the royal residences the more sparse they became. But it would be enough to get close.

Still, the roof would provide a way out of his own residence and he lazily made his way over the tiles to the outside wall to make the jump to a lower roof, and then behind it one lower still. He was about eight buildings away total before he finally had to drop to the ground. From there there were columns and shadows enough to hide behind before he made his way inside. It wasn't that he was up to mischief, although he was hiding, it was that if he knew he was found he would have no chance of enough peace to calm his mind.

It was as grand as he had imagined and yet at the same time more than what had been described to him. Yes, there was nothing grandiose or garish. Simple elegance in the modlings, classic choice in the colors, large windows that when opened would fill the room with light. Yet as he turned looking for a place to sit quietly and reflect, Aljoar heard footsteps in the hall beyond one of the doors. Still not wishing to be found and perhaps handed over to his staff, he sought instead a place to hide. First and fastest place to get to was a window seat behind a set of heavy curtains.


Clumsy, awkward little Maria wasn't… exactly… anyone's first choice to actually contribute to the setting up of the ceremonial hall, but in fairness it was that or potentially mess up one of the designated areas where the heirs would be staying in the city. A potential mislaid fork or slightly-droopy napkin arrangement were the least of anyone's worries compared to, say, accidentally breaking something valuable belonging to a guest. Besides, most of it was done. She had to dust everything down again, set a few items in place, open curtains and windows to let in fresh air and light… Nothing too terribly demanding. Surely even she could handle that, right? So after she had seen to lady Helene – albeit in that signature flustered, out-of-her-depth way she usually did – and performed the rest of her chores in as whirlwind-like a manner as she could, she was waved off to the ceremonial hall.

Maria didn't mind, in truth. The hall itself was spacious and when it was empty there were nice acoustics. She could spend the time she had to set up singing her heart out with nobody to hear and judge, not realizing that the last thing she'd be judged on was her voice. Nothing seemed to be out of place when she entered the room, still a touch dark in spite of the many gentle lighting points. She took a deep breath and re-rolled the sleeves that had been coming loose, then began to work around the room, tugging curtains out of place as she moved. No singing just yet, that could wait for the moment…

She rather clearly struggled with each of them. Little huffs and soft, faintly frustrated noises and occasional semi-conversational remarks to herself filled the air as she worked the drapes open and pinned them back appropriately. Long, long minutes must have passed for the man hiding behind the second-to-last pair of drapes as she slowly but surely made her way about the room to him. The one right before his held her up for a strong minute, forcing her to fight against the trapped section of drapery at the top. Eventually she wandered her way over, flat shoes tapping quietly against the floor, and wrapped her hands about the drapes that Aljoar was hidden behind.

The acoustics of the room had been enough to tell Aljoar by the footsteps and sound that the person who had entered the room was not one of his own staff. First off they were female by the sound of the grunts as curtains were opened. But they were also enough to tell him that he had chosen a very bad place to hide because eventually his set would be opened as well. His brain started racing for a way to avoid being found. The window was locked tight though and there was no way out of the curtains without being seen. Maybe if he pressed against the wall while they were being opened he might be missed. It was a 50/50 shot on which way she'd be facing. She could end up looking right at him, but Aljoar chose a wall, stood on the seat and pressed flat against it, holding as still as he possibly could.

"Nearly done," he'd hear her murmur to herself as she started to haul again on the stiff fabric, this time perhaps a little more forcibly. The fabric wasn't designed to take that; she squeaked suddenly as it cascaded down, pushing with her hands so it didn't land atop her. Several more moments passed before she peeked from one eye, and then realized that there was a human-shaped bulge beneath the mess of fabric. "Oh- oh gosh, I'm- I'm so sorry! I- oh goodness, let me get you out of there, ho-hold still, just… just a moment!"

Aljoar was definitely a pile on the floor under the curtain. He had been in just the right spot to be caught in it as he fell and now he was good and truly stuck. "No worries," he tried to answer, his voice muffled by the cloth. "If you can hold up an end I think I can crawl out."

His head was ringing though. When the curtains fell one of the rings must have slipped with them and clipped him behind the ear.

The voice coming from under the curtain wasn't a familiar one, not one of the couple of serving men that liked to try and skive their work, not anyone she recognised as meant to be in this particular area… Maria's mind churned the information through as she fumbled through fabric, searching for an edge so she could give him a way out. Oh no… If he wasn't familiar-sounding, and he was here now… He must be part of one of the heir entourages, and here she was knocking him over and probably getting him hurt! This was by far worse than dropping plates!

"I'm really so, so sorry," she repeated herself, finally tugging the heavy drapery upwards, hopefully giving him a straight enough shot out of the mess. "I- I didn't think there would- would be anyone behind there, so…" She was suitably red-faced and rather visibly distressed by the incident as a whole. "Are you- I mean, I… are you okay? You're not hurt? I can… I mean, I can take you to a medic, or… or…" She trailed, leaving room at last for Aljoar to respond; for all her questions there had been surprisingly few gaps for him to answer. She was going to catch hell for this sooner or later.

One he could see which way to move to get out, Aljoar was able to crawl forward, pulling himself with his forearms, out from under the heavy drapery. Once free he simply slumped back against the wall, head against the cool stone, legs outstretched before him. Another minute or two and maybe his ears would stop ringing. A quick touched showed no blood, only a large goose egg.

"It's fine," he insisted with only the barest hint of Emanaline accent. "I wasn't supposed to be back there and I know it. I was looking around, got scared I'd be found by the wrong person when I heard you coming, and hid." Might as well be honest about what most people would assume to have happened. As long as she didn't ask who he was or for a name he wouldn't have to lie.
"It's very different here from home." There, maybe she'd latch onto that and they could skip the introductions.

Thank god, he wasn't angry… The words were another worry on top of everything, though. Maria dropped the fabric before turning to him, twisting anxiously at the apron she wore over her simply pinafore dress.
"From… from home? Y-you're from one of the other nations, then." Please not one of the heirs! I can't have hurt one of them, I'll get in such trouble… She tried for some conversation, since he didn't seem in any rush to get up, and the touch to his head had her worried about concussions. "Uhm… which are you from, then? I- I've not been out of Amberholm, so… so I don't know your accent."

"Emantaline," he answered letting the accent slip through more clearly before correcting it to just a hint again. "And please, I've had worse falling off the stable roof. I'll be back on my feet soon if you'll allow me to sit a moment?" he opened his eyes then, searching her face for any sign of serious discomfort not brought on by accidentally dropping curtains on a hiding stranger.

"You- you fell off the stable roof? I… I mean, hopefully not recently…" She bit her lip as she watched him, that concern still very visible in the expression. "N- no, you can sit there, just… are you… are you sure? That sounded like it hurt, I- I feel like I should take a look, but…" She was sort of hovering, probably closer than she should be or would be if she knew it wasn't a servant-type she'd knocked on his ass.

"You may look if you like," he answered watching her expressions, "I think it's just a bump though. It will clear on it's own. And yeah, when I was a boy, broke my arm." with one hand he tugged the hood of his over robe down and tilted his head so she could see for herself that he would in fact be fine. "The roofs of Emantaline are so close together you can cross from one side of the city to the other and never touch the street if you have the skill and know what paths to take. Not like here. When I was a lad my friends and I would climb all over when we thought we wouldn't get caught. There were a number of falls involved."

"There's no harm making sure," she mumbled, stepping in and actually laying hands on him. The fingers were extremely gentle, working through his hair as she checked briefly for cuts or blood. "I mean, head injuries can be kind of serious…" A few moments passed with her lightly working her fingers about the area, soft touches to avoid causing further discomfort. "It does look okay, though." She withdrew, starting to examine the curtain as she listened to him, surprised at the descriptions of the foreign nation.
"It sounds like you were probably a nightmare for your parents," she smiled, then remembered that wasn't something you ought to say to a new acquaintance. "I- I mean! Not that- I don't mean that badly, j-just… you know, falling off houses seems like it'd be a very worrying trend!" Her cheeks had flushed that deep rosy hue once more as she tried to excuse her words.

Aljoar just laughed, threw back his head and laughed heartily in a way he hadn't managed in some time. Laughed in a way that sent echoes bouncing around the room. Excellent acoustics here. He didn't know why, but this girl was just so easy to be genuine around. A trait that was not his best at all.
"I'm afraid I didn't at all become what they hoped for me," he answered with a friendly chuckle. "Mother wished me to be less reckless, and my Father hoped I might be more political. I was always more military minded though."

Laughter set Maria's concern to rest somewhat, even coaxing another faintly-flustered little smile onto her face. The urge to join in, to break down into a fit of the giggles, hit her hard and fast. She wouldn't have thought someone so serious-looking could laugh like that and it was refreshing, in a way.

"I don't think a lot of people's kids come out what they wanted, though. I just hope if I ever have children they're happy. Even if they're off bopping monsters in the head. I mean, I'd worry, but it'd be worth it, wouldn't it?" She cast him another glance, this one layered over with a slightly different sort of concern. Someone that was hiding from… well, something. It was like lady Helene earlier, having something worth running from. She might not understand the girl's trepidation from a personal viewpoint, but the emotion was real. This man's must be too. Still, that was touching into heavy things she shouldn't with a stranger.
"Are you enjoying Amberholm so far? It's probably quite different in other ways too than just even the architecture, right?"

"I haven't been in the city long enough to explore properly," Aljoar admitted with a grunt, pushing himself to his feet. There was something about his stance that indicated he was a man used to having a weapon close at hand, but the smile crooking the corner of his mouth was real. "We got here and then everything was "make sure the heir is ready" sort of rush about. I'd like to see the city though . . . " his eyes drifted to the curtains for a moment. "Ah -- you'll need help getting those back up."

Maria lingered close as the man rose eventually, fully anticipating the potential of having to steady him if the bash had been hard enough. He stood well on his own, though, and she breathed her relief out in a faintly-shaking exhale. "You know, that's… pretty much how things have been here, too. I think everyone will be glad when the ceremony is over and we can all get back to normal." The little smile at the corner of his mouth drew her and she offered. "If you wanted, I could take you sightseeing after, get you the break you needed. I promise not to drop more curtains on you!" Her gaze dipped down to the offending item as she spoke, faint embarrassment writing into her features. Yep, definitely going to need to find one of the manservants.

"Everyone happy except the heirs, probably, unless a few get lucky--" Aljoar answered softly. His eyes moved up the window casing though as he tried to mask uncertainty with distraction. "There's the problem there," he pointed, "The curtain rod's bounced out of the holder and everything spilled off the end. Explains how the ring got me too -- If there's a ladder?" his gaze shifted around the room as he turned to look. "As for sightseeing, I'd like that, provided it won't cause you any trouble." For a moment he wondered if the offer wouldn't cause them both trouble before he remembered it would probably be taken off the table once she learned who he actually was. Yet if he could hold up the ruse for a little longer, pretend for a while -- it might be worth it.

[/fieldbox]

 

[Fiona]

[fieldbox="Gathering for Dinner, goldenrod, solid, 10"]As one might expect, while all this was happening the time was still gradually creeping further and further on, until night had properly covered Amberhall and her inhabitants were beginning to turn their minds to dinner and other nightly routines. The plan as it stood was to bring the heirs together and feed them, make them a little fuller and more comfortable before an announcement that could potentially be quite upsetting for some. It increased the risk of seeing food make a reappearance, but lessened that of being aggressively slammed for their decision by one of the less laid-back nation representatives.

So, with that plan loosely laid out, the servants of Amberhall were informed they had to actually collect the various heirs. If they were all in their rooms this wouldn't have been too much of an issue, but people had an annoying tendency to wander, and as was becoming increasingly apparent with the men and women of the moment, not to report where they were heading. Several different individuals were sent out on the search for the heirs, some exploring the residential spaces and two rather flustered maidservants sent out to the city to corral the few who'd still neglected entirely to show up.

Two identical-looking men moseyed along corridors at a pace that would suggest anything but an urgent search and retrieval mission, both making incredibly inappropriate remarks back and forth as they searched out their quarry.

"You'd think that one dude with the face would stay in one place at least. He looked real wimpy," came the first brother's voice, nose wrinkling as he spoke of the heir from Praxus.

"Ehh, at least he still looks like a he, y'know? Not like that one what might be a man or a woman."

"You reckon if it has both parts it can have kids?" The crass conversation turned to the androgynous individual from Aurum as the pair bumbled along the hallway, occasionally sticking faces into rooms in search of the heirs.

"Hell if I know. You stick an egg up some folk's arses they could crap out a bird, I'm sure. Probably the same with that." It really wouldn't do for anyone to hear them talking like this and they were both faintly aware of it, but that didn't make them stop discussing the various heirs who had shown until they eventually found one, then another, then another and gradually nudged them all towards the ceremonial hall.

Only when everyone had been accounted for – it took bloody long enough! – did the servants finally get to take the heirs all down to the hall and then attempt to get them all to take seats that wouldn't land them next to someone they were going to fight cat and mouse with. The table was bare as the heirs took their seats, only for servants to begin emerging with food-laden plates from the various exit points dotted about the room. The table rapidly filled with steaming platters. The glasses were empty for the moment, whoever was meant to be dealing with beverages apparently either lost among the others or somehow delayed.

A long few minutes passed before a frazzled-looking Maria rushed into the room, pushing something that looked like a cart. A faint rattling sound came from within it. She immediately made a beeline for the table, looking guilty.

"Who wants what to drink, my lords and ladies?"[/fieldbox]