Iskiela: Unity

[fatalrendezvous]

A thin layer of fog crept lazily along the rivers bordering the walls of Amberhall. The morning sun chiseled away at it, as did the movement stirring from the city, both within and without. In the fog's wake was the crystalline blue of the Iressa River, its banks nearly touched by the shadows cast from the mountains beyond them.

Excitement and energy crackled amidst the bustle of the townsfolk; the Heirs from the Ten Nations of Iskiela were scheduled to arrive this day. They would participate in the time-honored Unification ritual, the first of which gave this world peace generations ago. While certainly the citizens of all the nations were grateful for this, perhaps the Ambers were most thankful of all. To live to see even a single Unification ceremony was a point of pride for the people of Amberholm. To have lived long enough to see two was a blessing.

Across the districts of Amberholm, from the farmlands to the workshops, mothers high and lowborn alike ushered their children to the streets to take in the spectacle. Ladies whispered and gossiped, while merchants set up carts and tents to hawk their wares. Perfumed courtesans lined the streets in as little clothing as the men of the Amberguard would let them get away with, hoping against hope to catch the eye of an heir (or perhaps an heir's handsome bodyguard) and pique their interest.

They didn't have to wait long. Before midday the horse-drawn carriages displaying the standards and banners of the noble families they represented emerged through the gates, some of them escorted by large entourages, and some preferring to travel light. No matter the size, cheers and applause welcomed the heirs as they embarked on the last leg of their journey: the final parade from the city's gates to the Great Keep where they would reside for the coming few weeks.

Advisors and envoys from each nation had arrived weeks - or in some cases months - ahead of their heirs, to prepare their respective heirs' living quarters to suit their needs and to brief the Ambers on any cultural intricacies or special requests the heirs might require.

Nanette Sharr, the Stewardess of Amberholm, milled about the Great Hall, making some final touches and checking with each nation's representatives to make sure everything was on schedule. In the center of the hall was Helene, the Heir of Amberholm, her normally unkempt red hair tamed and curled, feeling rather unlike herself in an ornate blue dress that was a far cry from the leather and armor she felt most at home in. Butterflies the size of falcons fluttered in her belly, the anticipation of the Heirs arriving almost too much to bear even without the addition of Nan's busywork.

The stage was set.

All that was left was for the heirs to arrive so they could help them settle in.

​

While Nan and Helene awaited the arrival of the Heirs in the keep, down somewhere in a brothel in the underbelly of Amberhall, the eldest of the noble Meriva children waited for the arrival of something quite different.

From just beyond the threshold of the door to the room came a smoky, sultry voice. "Didn't expect to see you here today of all days, my lord." A lithe blonde woman, draped in translucent red silks that did little to shield her decency, slipped nimbly through the crack in the door like a cat. Her eyes immediately affixed themselves upon her new prey as she walked a wide arc around the bed in the center of the room.

Holden sat at the edge of that bed, fully-clothed, his eyes hungrily taking in the sight of his favorite girl. "What better place to be than here, Gwen?" He shrugged with a practiced nonchalance. "Given the choice, I'd pick just about anything over being stuck in the Great Hall right now amidst all the pomp and pageantry."

It was nearly a convincing facade; among other social circles they might have taken him at his word, but this girl knew better. She narrowed her eyes at Holden, her measured steps drawing her closer, closer, until she drew so close she could practically taste the envy on his breaths. "Is that… jealousy I hear?"

"Jealous?" Holden snapped back without hesitation. "What reason would I have to be jealous? Missing the opportunity to wed some stranger from some pompous noble family?" He scoffed and shook his head even as Gwen purred and began pulling at the laces holding his tunic in place and undressing him. "Someone has to take on the monumental, thankless task of satisfying the whores in the world. Besides, if the Heirs of this Unification are as I've heard, they're the most uninteresting bunch in the history of the ritual. My sister included."

A wry smile spread across Gwen's features, beginning at one corner of her plump crimson lips and then crossing over to the other. "You are jealous," she accused him, as she shrugged her scant clothing off her shoulders and let it pool on the carpet by her bare feet. She pointed a finger at him, tapping it against the scruff of his bearded jawline. "And you're plenty pompous for the lot of them."

Holden's hand flew to the girl's neck, squeezing a gasp halfway out of her throat; a spark of mischief glinted in her eyes, mirroring in his own. "You've got a mouth on you, girl. Go on, put it to better use."

 

[unanun]

"Gilead."

The retinue of Aurum rocked along the cobblestone roads. The delegation was sparse, only eight carriages, owing to the short and pleasant trip between Argentum and Amberhall, and was as plain as its occupants inside were dressed.

"Gilead."

The caravan descended onto a section of road works, falling off the cobblestone onto the gravel underlayer. They were briefly airborne, then their bottoms vibrated on the tufted cushions.

"Gilead!"

The object of Miah's demands for attention turned away from the study of the landscape, where flatland stretched into a forest on the horizon. Warmth beamed through the glass window.

"Say, Miah ... do you think my match will be pretty?"

"Look at this rat, Gilead."

Miah cut into the emaciated rat, laid inside a bowled cutting board. The carriage reascended onto the cobblestone, and the scholar just avoided a spill before the pops of the wooden frame faded to soothing creaks.

"Ew. Gods! Why are you always messing around with - it's getting everywhere! Stop!!"

"I've been feeding this rat a mold-based poison for months. Look, it's insides are perfectly healthy. No discolourations or otherwise. No foul smells."

"It smells terrible!!"

"Look at the bones." Miah dug out the tiny femur and snapped it in half. The marrow inside was gone. "Utterly enfeebled. This rat would've wasted away within the next few weeks. Anya is none the wiser."

In a second cage was the rat's listless sibling. The calico crouched next to it, sniffing the contents with great interest. She extended a paw past the cage, batting the rat.

"Even she can't smell it. It's perfect."

"Repugnant, you mean. Just .. please, put it away. I don't want to smell like rat when I'm meeting my future partner."

Gilead signed and turned back to the window, and Miah sealed the corpse in a leather pouch for later. "I bet they will be beautiful. Nations only send their best for the unification. I'm underdressed."

They wore fashion befitting their achievements: pristine, starched white dress shirts, finest wool trousers, straight cut, and flowing black robes that were necessary in the catacombs, but unnecessary in the warmth of Amberholm.

"They're going to be wearing silks, jewelry, embroidery, lace. I'm going to look so plain next to them." A pair of hands fidgeted all over the uniform, straightening already straight collars and tucking in the already tucked in shirt.

Miah peered closely at Gilead. "You've overdone it on claritas, again. How many times have I told you that it's not something to soothe the nerves? You need a lip of lulu."

"Preceptor says lulu makes people dull."

Gilead's glasses bounced on a cupped chin, coupled to the carriage by the elbow resting on the window frame. The Scholars lapsed back into silence, Miah petting the calico, as the gates to Amberhall grew. The bugles could already be heard.

 

[Lesbingus]

"Mmh... The sky is too open, here..."

The musings of Matžem Dag's heiress were the first words she had spoken in hours, and it roused the two men who sat opposite of her to attention. They looked upwards, bearded faces contemplative. The first of them, a blonde bear of a man, rumbled thoughtfully.

"I dinnae... looks normal? A wee bit open, but...?"

He shrugged his massive shoulders, and the heiress nodded. The man next to the blonde did not speak. He was short and thin, with long red hair and a full beard. Where the blonde was missing his right eye, the redhead was missing his left. He shrugged as well, and once more the heiress nodded.

She looked forward. The streets of Amberholm were flush with people-- they bayed, they cried, they howled. All for her. And for those other carriages and entourages that both proceeded and succeeded her own. Those in front of and behind the Matžem entourage were enclosed carriages drawn by horses... but not the Matžem. Their's was an open farming wagon, laden with crates and sacks of supplies. There was a simply flag pole-- woven from a living tree-- that dangled with seven pennants from seven branches, display the insignia of the seven Matžem clans. Their carriage was drawn by a colossal cervid, an elk, brown of fur and heavily muscled, its head crowned by an enourmous rack of antlers that dangled with yet more pennants and wooden baubles.

It let out a long, bleating cry of triumph to the crowd, and the heiress raised her staff in turn.

"Ah... The gates... we are arriving, then."

The heiress steepled long, thin fingers on a thin, bony knee. Her sunken eyes gazed outwards, her thin, nearly colorless lips curling upward in a tired smile. She was the very model of poised exhaustion. Hers was a constant battle against her own body-- Matžem Dag had skilled healers, and the heiress had been saved, but not entirely. She would never walk properly, never run, exertion was a chore, even the most minor of things leaving her shaking and panting... but she persisted. She tucked a long tress of red hair, quickly going grey, behind her ear. As the wagon drew to a stop behind the gates of Amberhall, she rose-- towering over even the blonde giant-- and shakily descended the steps of her wagon. It left her shaking, brow laden with sweat, but she leaned upon her staff for support. The giant came next, laying one colossal paw of a hand upon her back.

"Druid... You cannae allow me tae carry you?"

The heiress shook her head.

"No, Blazh... I... I must do this."

He frowned, but nodded. The wispy redhead had joined them at some point, and took the blonde man's hand, giving it a squeeze. He visibly relaxed. The heiress, Caoileann Ó Deághaidh Mac Giolla Ghlais, began her slow, agonizing approach towards the greathall. The men behind her carried her things, the giant, Blazh, heaving a box the size of a small man under each arm, whilst the wispy redhead, Dalibor, carried the small sacks of goods.

"I can't help but wonder as to who I've been paired... A wonderful mystery, is it not?"

 

[Itari]

Moira stood in front of the funeral pyre as the last of the flames finally died down. Her fingers curled into Grey's. The gray wolf-dog raised his head and Moira leaned down slightly so he could lick her gently on the chin. On her other side, Nari gently nuzzled into her side. She could hear the sound of boots crunching on the snow, but didn't turn away from the pyre.

"Are you ready to leave, Moira?" Erik ,a long time friend of her parents, stood next to her. He absentmindedly pet Nari on the head. "Howl's got all the horses ready to leave."

"The coals are still hot."

"If you wait for the coals to go out, you'll miss the Unification."

"Technically I'm not the heir anymore."

Erik handed her an item. "No, you're not. But there's no one else who can go." Moira stared at the gold circlet in her hands. "Have you sent word to the other countries yet?"

Moira shook her head. "I sent a letter to Gilead, but I'm not sure they got it before leaving."

Erik sighed, "They're probably having a fit down in Amberholm right now. We didn't send anyone beforehand and now we're a day late."

Moira shot him a grin, "Can you imagine? The entire Unification in shambles because of our little snowy country."

Erik clapped her on the shoulder, causing Moira to stumble. "Hurry up and get down there, Your Majesty."

Moira rolled her eyes. "Please don't call me that, Erik." She put the crown on her head and took one last look at what remained of her parents. She whistled one long note, and four huskies stood up from where they were resting nearby and began following her back into the city.

"Uh Moira? You're not planning to take all of the dogs with you, are you? Moira?"

 

[Falcon]

When the rain falls bringing with it sorrow
A mourning in our hearts, left feeling hollow
The tears we shed, blending with the storm
As we mourn the loss of one so warm


The voice was rich, deep, and true as it rang out in the spring chilled air. All was silent around it save for the occasional nicker of a horse, the rustle of clothing or leather as a saddle was belted or a pack was adjusted by one of the assembled party members. The mood was somber as it should be, those who had no words letting the bard give voice to their thoughts and hearts.


When the rain falls, the heavens feel our pain
We mourn the loss, wish to see your face again
But love endures though our tears fall like rain

No instrument accompanied him this time. The red haired man had packed his drum and zither safely away for the journey to Amberholm. His pan pipe was safely tucked away in his belt pouch with his beard oil. He would need them intact once they reached their destination if he was to keep Moira sufficiently distracted from her grief and the stress that the unification no doubt piled on top. Her burdens were many and Howl would do everything in his power to lighten that load, even if it was only to provide a joke to laugh at, or a shoulder to cry on.

Together we stand here, beneath the grey skies
We hold to each other and try to rise
Above the sorrow, and above the grief
Soon we shall find strength to believe

The bulk of warm fur against Howl's right shoulder shifted and the grizzled wolf dog turned his head to lick his cheek. Captain, too old to pull sleds anymore, yet still young enough to make a good traveling companion. Howl was determined to bring his loyal canine as he was sure his liege lady would most likely be bringing her own pack. It seemed unfair to leave Captain behind after everything the two had weathered. Besides he needed someone to bounce ideas off on when he was composing songs and stories.

When the rain falls, the heavens feel our pain
We mourn the loss, wish to see your face again
But love endures though our tears fall like rain

Golden eyes glinted in the light as he turned his head. He could see her coming now, Moira, his friend since childhood and now his queen. That was going to take some getting used to. Howl wondered if anything had changed, if they would still be able to joke as they once had, if she would still tease him about his bad songs or tell him whether or not some pretty girl he had his eye on was worth getting to know. Would he still be able to offer his opinion when she was puzzling something over?

Howl supposed only time would tell. She was grieving now. They would work through that first, take the time needed. go over the memories, talk through the doubts and fears no matter if it took months, or years, or decades. Or even just sit in silence if she needed. The rest he supposed would work itself out one step at a time.

Though the sky is dark, the storm rages on
And we feel the tears may never cease
We know that your love will guide us
Through our darkest days, and bring us peace

Howl rose to his feet though his voice never once broke as he sang the bridge to the funeral song. The horses were ready, the traveling party assembled. The supplies were on the carts, food for human and canine alike, camping gear, medical supplies, extra firewood, tools, anything they might need if they found themselves without a town to rest in on the way.

As his new queen approached Howl bowed, still singing the final chorus.

When the rain falls, the heavens feel our pain
We mourn the loss, wish to see your face again
But love endures though our tears fall like rain

 

[Ariel]

The Romorantin procession rumbled through the streets of Amberhall, its centrepiece a carriage of gilt and ebony, drawn by eight powerfully built horses, all coal-black and decked in gilded trappings. The carriage was manned by a driver and a guard, both clad in the red and black livery of House Rehn. Over them fluttered a banner depicting the bloody dagger of Rehn; behind sat a tall young woman, dark of hair and regal of aspect, dressed richly in robes of seasilk. For all its simplicity, the cost of that dress would have paid the salaries of a hundred guardsmen for a year - and yet it seemed below the consideration of its wearer.

Many had spoken of the beauty and bearing of the Black Princess of Kulvulcan. Now, perhaps, the people of Amberhall might see for themselves.

And they would see, too, the steel fist within the seasilk glove - as represented by the mounted escort behind the carriage, drawn from the guard cavalry of Kulvulcan's Black Company, perhaps the most feared band of mercenaries across the Eastern seas. Fully armed in dark steel harness, riding puissant coursers, and armed to the teeth with lance, sword, pollaxe, mace and dagger - yet the truly terrifying aspect of their appearance, to those who knew of these things, was not their equipage but their discipline. They moved easily, not stiffly like the over-drilled toy soldiers of many a noble lifeguard; yet they kept their positioning, always in mutual support, never drifting too far from or too near to each other or their ward.

There might be greater warriors than the Black Company, but there might not be better soldiers to be found.

* * *

Apollonia's gaze darted about the crowd, never resting on a single spot. An old soldier's trick. If you focused too hard on any one thing, your vision narrowed. Instead you let your eyes flick here and there, trusting your instincts.

She had never liked riding in carriages. Too slow, too clumsy. They bogged down, broke their axles, lost their wheels. A good strong cart was useful for hauling supplies, but these flimsy things were good for nothing but display.

Display, though, was a crucial part of diplomacy. Pomp and circumstance were important ways of signaling to others that you had means, you knew the rules of the game, you were to be reckoned with.

And so display there must be, lest anyone get the idea that Kulvulcan was to be in any way underestimated or disrespected.

Even so, Apollonia hated carriages. She much preferred being astride a horse, able to bend it to her will with nothing but a shift of her hips.

Horses, she mused, were so much easier to deal with than people.

The Romorantin procession pressed on.

 

[Hecatoncheires]

​

"My Prince," Canid hissed, trying and failing to sound like he wasn't getting frustrated, "traditionally the Heir is supposed to travel inside the carriage."

Nero couldn't help himself. Turning to look down from his destrier at the Aurum scholar leaning from the carriage window, he flashed a grin precision engineered to annoy.
"Is that so?" he asked.

It was a phrase he had been honing for many years, equal parts condescending, mocking and dismissive. Canid rose to it almost instantly. Bristling. Trying not to bristle. Only bristling further. It was, Nero had to admit, perhaps a little unfair to wind the scholar up so much. The man was only trying to help, after all. But something about Canid's fastidious self-seriousness was simply delightful to poke at. He had been the gift that kept on giving on the long journey to Amberholm.

They rode at the head of a Bocaccian delegation that could not help but draw attention as it proceeded through the crowds of Amberhall. The single carriage occupied by Canid was about their only concession to tradition. Baggage trains made up the rest. Baggage trains, and a procession of mercenaries that had accompanied the Bastard Prince from their homeland. None watching could describe them as a unit. As an organised, unified grouping. They were a motley. A scattering of military shades that invariably clashed with one another. No one man was like the next that followed him. Brother Luca in his salt-stained black robes and rusting chainmail, a brutal warhammer that looked like it had been forged from a ship's anchor slung across his back. Patchwork Palmiro, a man who looked like he'd been hewn from stone then used to sharpen blades with his face for decades. Next came Il Gigas, a hunchbacked runt of a man still proudly wearing his peasant's liripipe… and a bandolier of rather wicked-looking daggers strung across his chest. Even Nero himself was hardly the image of a visiting foreign dignitary, dressed as he was in travel-stained riding leathers and with a longsword hanging from his hip.

They resembled a mummer's troupe more than they did a group of professional fighters. The only consistent element to them was the scrap of fabric attached to their clothes right above their hearts, onto which was sown a symbol.

A crowned skull, floating above a sword and spade.

His lips now pressing into an irritable, narrow line, Canid glared at his incorrigible charge.
"You must start taking this seriously," he hissed again, as though somehow his words could otherwise be heard over the din of the crowd, "do you understand how rare an opportunity this is?" Nero turned away deliberately, waving to the passing audience even as he continued to grin.
"Ah yes, I recall this particular lecture. You gave it at least three times as we passed over the Guglias."
"Then you will recall that Bocaccia has something of a… reputation, my Prince. A reputation that you are not helping to dissuade with your actions--"
"--Master Scholar," Nero interjected, his jovial tone somehow taking on a sharpness that cut Canid off mid-sentence, "there will only be three occasions in which I deign to travel within a carriage. The first has occurred already. The day I sat next to my father as we were drawn into Dekamanche and he was crowned King of Bocaccia. The second shall be the day that my blushing bride and I are taken by these strange Ambers to be married, should she so wish it."
"What happens if it's a blushing groom they gave you, Prince?" Il Gigas called, to hoots and laughter from the mercenaries nearby.
"In that case?" Nero mused, then arched an eyebrow. "I intend to be top." As the sellswords cackled, Canid continued to frown. Ever the scholar, he sought a resolution to whatever point the Prince was trying to make.
"And the third occasion, my Prince?" he prompted. Nero clicked his fingers and pointed in the air, as though recalling something important.
"Claro. The third occasion, Master Scholar, shall be when they bear my body back through the gates of Dekamanche. To be buried in the Capellum Profundum with much ceremony and weeping. Perhaps a few widows shall fling themselves from the walls in grief. Questo genere di cose. But aside from this?" Nero affixed his grin upon Canid once again. "I have no intention of being spirited about in that rattling death trap of yours."

Amidst the laughter and jeers that followed, a new voice was heard. Older, gruffer, feigning the pensive tone that Canid was so fond of.
"And what happens, mine Prince, if they instead dump your body, mangled and broken, on the side of a road somewhere to be forgotten?" The speaker rode into view, advancing up the column to draw his horse next to Nero's. Of all the Bocaccians, Niccolo was about the only man who might match the expectations the watching Ambers might have held about the warriors of the Burned-Over Kingdom. His breastplate, though well-worn, looked as though it might have actually been polished and cleaned some time in the last year, and the black and yellow gambeson beneath it was well-tailored. Nero turned his grin upon his old mentor, and gave a shrug.
"Well then, you know what they say about the life of a sellsword, no?"

It was a call to action, one the Bocaccian delegation was only to happy to answer.
"Brutish and short!" the sellswords bellowed, laughing all the while even as the crowd nearby shrank back at the strange, raucous herd that had somehow been allowed through the city gates.

Still smiling, Nero turned back to glance at Canid.

The scholar's expression was that of a man who was wondering which gods he'd offended to deserve this particular fate.

 

[Karo]

Valora might as well have been royalty herself. Onlookers were none the wiser as she took her mistress Apollonia's place in the carriage. Unless they'd met her as she served the Black Company, few outside of Romorant knew what the Black Princess looked like. Hardly any paintings were made of the princess as she didn't have the patience to sit for them. There was always something more important to do, papers to sign and swordsmanship to strengthen. So it was no surprise the Serenissima of Kulvulcan's ruse had succeeded.

She looked out with delight at the crowds before her, thoroughly enthralled. Her years of service to Apollonia had yet to make her numb to the fanfare that came with royalty. Even if she were, the celebrations around the Unification were different. Citizens from all over Iskiela came to witness it. It was anticipated by millions of people, regardless of nationality.

Valora smiled wryly to herself. On this multi-day journey, she had nothing but time to think about the Unification and Apollonia's potential match. The Romorantin heir was known for many things– ambition, charm, and fighting prowess among them. Romance was not one of them. Valora hoped the two got along, for both Apollonia and her match's sake.

Colored strips of cloth flew through the air, a few landing on the shoulder of her robe. Valora grabbed them, swiftly shoving them up her sleeves for safekeeping. She couldn't help but get sentimental. She'd heard stories of the Unifications since she was little. Stories of love, stories of peacemaking. Each of these stories held a special place in her heart. She was overjoyed to be accompanying Apollonia to her own Unification, after years of only hearing grand stories.

Of course, Apollonia would remind her not to be too excited. The Unification was also the perfect time for anyone who was plotting something sinister to strike. This in mind, Valora's back straightened, eyes darting about for a moment. There was nothing to fear, of course. She was surrounded by Romorantin mercenaries, the best of the best. And yet, she couldn't help but raise her guard a little. It was part of her role. To keep her eyes and ears open and report anything amiss to Apollonia.

As the enclave approached the grand gates of Amberhall, the roaring of the crowds and the brassy song of the bugles grew louder and louder. Valora looked around from iron-clad figure to figure, in search of someone in particular.

 

[Fiona]

Collab with @fatalrendezvous​

Briar wasn't often given particularly onerous tasks to do, and that – surprisingly – continued to be the case even with the unification looming over the horizon. A lot of the particularly nasty stuff had been assigned out to manservants, while Briar found herself adhering to her usual list of duties.

Right now, for example, she was polishing silverware. It was such a mundane, routine chore it bored most servants to tears.

"I see that look in your eye," she commented to a befeathered friend who had tried to hop in through the window three times already. "I'm afraid this sort of shiny isn't for you. I'll get in trouble if I let you have it."

A soft, conversational caw followed the remark.

"Well, I tell you what, if you let me finish my work here, I'll get you something tasty for supper, how does that sound?" She cast a smile out towards the window as the crow ruffled its feathers at her. She wasn't entirely sure whether they understood her, but it certainly felt like they did.

Unbeknownst to Briar, Holden had returned to the keep and was making his way towards the great hall where the heirs would be waiting. Ordinarily he'd pay no mind to the servants of the home, but on this day he welcomed any distraction he could get. "Talking to the animals again?" His disbelief was apparent in the way his words curled in that distasteful way at the end of his question.

"You don't really believe that they understand you, do you?"

The bird took off, apparently as startled as Briar had been by Holden's arrival, leaving the redhead alone to turn and face him.

"I couldn't say, my lord. I know they're quite intelligent, and they have some concept of gratitude or friendship." She was wearing one of the ribbons that they'd gifted her, after all. "I'm almost sure that little one will be back for supper."

Was it her imagination, or did he smell a little odd?

"My lord, have you… changed your clothing today?"

Holden wanted to sneer at her seemingly deep concern over the intelligence of birds, but he hardly had the time before she asked if he'd changed. There was something about the way she asked the question that… gave him pause. And in that pause, the canvas of his mind was filled with impure thoughts.

"I have not," he responded, the corner of his lips curled into a smirk, his hand reaching up to the laces of his tunic. "Shall I? Now?" He stepped closer to her, his brown eyes locked upon her blues. His gloved hand began to tug at the lace, undoing the knot and causing the lacing to unravel.

She really hadn't meant now!

Polite as ever, Briar averted her eyes even as Holden sought them out, picking something in the far corner to stare at and continuing to try and work her fingers around the handle of the silver fork she'd been polishing for too long now.

"My lord, I hardly think the dining room is the place for…"

"Briar." He recited, as the mental images dancing in his head finally managed to pull a name with them. Another step closer to her. "That's your name, isn't it?" The leather soles of his boots tapped once again on the floors as he crossed the threshold into her personal space. "You've just recently celebrated your eighteenth birthday, if I recall, haven't you?"

"I'm surprised you remembered, my lord. There must be many other things to better fill your mind than the names and birthdays of servants?"

"Good," Holden responded briefly, sidestepping the question. Surely she knew from gossiping with the other maidservants exactly why.

He plucked the fork from her hands and let it slide out from his fingers, letting it clatter to the ground. The nerve of this man, really. Sure, it was only one fork, but knocking it from her hands still meant she'd have to do it again. He backed the girl into a wall, his hand coming to rest beside her head as he towered over her. His other hand reached up to cradle her cheek, the soft leather pads caressing at her porcelain skin. Trapped there, she had little choice but to let him touch, though it made her skin crawl. She knew where those hands had likely been in the very recent past, and she wasn't keen to have them touching her.

"You've grown into quite the woman, Briar."

The leathered fingertips trailed down her jawline to the lovely blue ribbon around her neck. "Now… it would be rather impolite for you to keep all your clothes on while I lost mine. Wouldn't you agree?" His fingertips enclosed on one end of the ribbon, aiming to start undressing her with that and work his way down. The continued, gentle touches drew out an instinctive tremor. Was she even technically allowed to say no to this? "Now that you've reached womanhood, I can think of a few new ways for you to ser—"

"Holden."

Oh, thank the gods.

Though short, the name boomed weightily in the halls, carried on a gruff voice from behind the pair. At the sound of it, the smirk immediately fell from Holden's face and he reluctantly turned around, standing straight to face his armsmaster. "You do move quiet in that armor, Ser Gyrard."

Gyrard stood in the hallway, in full ceremonial plate armor, his gauntleted hand resting upon the hilt of the sword at his waist, eyebrow raised. "Bit late for the proceedings, aren't you, boy? Don't waste your time here while a dozen foreign dignitaries wait for you to show up."

Holden bristled at being called boy, but Ser Gyrard was one of the few people in the world he dared not speak back to. He scoffed. "They don't need me to be there, and I don't want to be there. Me taking my time is beneficial for all of us."

"All of whom?" Ser Gyrard stepped into the dining room, approaching them. "You represent Amberholm, and you are their host." As he drew closer he was immediately greeted by a rather offensive mixture of aromas he'd had the displeasure of growing quite familiar with. "Gods, boy, you stink of lulu and wine. Go wash and join the ceremony or I'll have you shoveling horse shit for the next few weeks to mask the smell. Leave the girl."

Holden fought to hold back the scowl that threatened to scrunch his face together. He merely gave a slight bow, and hurried off down the halls towards his quarters. As Holden made his way out of the room, a sense of relief washed over Briar, so intense it almost made her legs buckle. Perhaps it was a good thing she'd been backed into a wall.

"Pardon my foul language, Briar," Ser Gyrard apologized, his posture relaxing. "Sometimes vulgarity is the only way to get through to him. Did he hurt you?"

A faint blush sketched itself into her features as Gyrard's attention turned to her, now. Suddenly there were butterflies in her stomach.

"No, he… he just frightened me a little." She paused, took a quick, deep breath to steady her nerves, and then managed a genuine, sweet smile. "Thank you, Ser Gyrard. I don't know how I'd have gotten out of that jam without you."

Gyrard gave a single chuckle as he returned the girl's smile. "You probably wouldn't have liked the way you'd have to get out of that jam." He shook his head with a disapproving exhale as he lowered himself to pick up the fork Holden had unceremoniously dropped. "Go on and finish up, dear," came his voice, its reassuring texture now an entirely different one from the scolding tone he'd used on his pupil.

His armor rustled as he handed the fork back to her. "I expect we'll need all the good silverware we can get our hands on soon."

In the moments after Gyrard eventually left the room, Briar found herself quite thoroughly flustered, wondering if it had just been her who had felt a spark of something strange and exciting when he'd passed that fork back to her. There was warmth in her cheeks and her chest, and her mind was anywhere but the polishing.

It wasn't until her crow friend returned and started cawing at her yet again that she was able to actually get back to work.

 

[Karo]

Among the crowd that flooded the streets of Amberhall, a blonde-haired woman careened to the tips of her toes to see the heirs and their entourages ride to the Great Keep. Occasionally her head would disappear from view as she scribbled something in the blue leather-bound book she carried with her.

When she finally looked up from her notes, she noticed a tall, large man had stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the procession. Her lips pursed in annoyance, she lightly tapped the man's shoulder. At first, he ignored her, but after a few seconds of persistent tapping, he turned around with a gruff "what?"

"Excuse me, sir, could we switch places? I can't see the carriages."

The man laughed, a harsh barking laugh that briefly caught the attention of the people beside him. "And just why would I do that?"

The woman looked at him quizzically. "To be nice?" she answered, shifting her weight from foot to foot impatiently.

The man laughed again, turning back around. Once again, the woman tapped him on his shoulder and he turned back, his face twisted in anger.

"What?!" he barked.

"I'll ask again. Can we please switch places?"

The man looked at her in disbelief, his anger building. "Who do you think you are?" he asked incredulously, bristling.

Without hesitation, the woman offered her hand. "Elowen Slette, scholar of Aurum," she answered matter of factly.

The man looked dismissively at her hand with a sneer. "Well Miss Elowen, I'm Gregor Caskwell, blacksmith of Amberholm. And I don't give a horse's ass what you want."

He turned back once again only to feel the familiar tapping. He whipped back around, his face red with anger only to see Elowen holding out a handful of gold coins.

"I'll pay you. Double if you let me sit on your shoulders to see.'

The large man considered this for a second before nodding. "Deal."

Elowen produced the promised coins and he took them swiftly before hoisting the young woman on his shoulders. She smiled to herself as suddenly, she had a clear view of the last few heirs arriving.

 

[Mglo]

Collab with @Fiona​

Diarch Amand Vasernas swung his practice blade, swift and purposeful, aiming for his son's head. Ambitor Elendi easily evaded with mocking amusement seeping through eyes that had narrowed with intent. Though prepared and balanced for a deadly counter, the young Ambitor instead gifted his sword to his father. The flying weapon hit Diarch Vasernas's haphazard block, knocking him off center. Two others were suddenly among them. One stood as a shield to Diarch Vasernas who watched his son's predator eyes staring at him from a mere stride away, held frozen in mid attack by the other whose name was Murdoch.

"What are you, 26 now? You're still fighting in a deranged manner, Elendi," the Diarch observed, wiping sweat off his brow. They'd been sparring at early hours of the morning, readjusting morning practice so that the Ambitor representing The Dominion of Praxus would leave on the scheduled time.

"We're just playing, father."

Elendi breathed easy and relaxed his stance signaling Murdoch with a light shrug that the charge was over. Murdoch understood the message, nevertheless he held firm and readjusted his hold around the torso of the young man he had known so long and still couldn't trust.

The Diarch checked for time and promptly lowered his weapon, "you're not that good Elendi, you were just born watching me fight and learning my style. It will kill you one day when you try the same game with less known warriors." With those loving and parting words he walked away, leaving an unimpressed looking Elendi and his worried Protector to prepare for the journey.

"But I am that good. I'm wasted on the Unification. Even my brother would suit it better. Jorgen on the other hand, would be perfect for it. By the way, when are you going to let go of me Murdoch?"

Murdoch softened his hold and said "I thought I would soothe my pupil with a gentle and lingering hug," before letting go. "Forget about Jorgen, what's done is done. Let's be on our way… or, do you want me to hold your hand?"

"Grow up Murdoch."

Laughter followed Elendi down the path.

After bathing and breakfasting came inspection of the retinue. All men and women having had a similar morning, also had a similar understanding. They had woken up early to a warm-up, now they were ready to battle the road. There was no gathering, no celebrations of grandeur or any kind of indication that one of the Dominion's Ambitors was leaving. After all, daily responsibilities must be performed and the best way to send off their own was by a thorough and timely completion of their job.

"Ambitor Elendi! Fairlea sent word," announced a worried messenger as the horses were pulled to a halt while irritated expressions looked to the sky for time. "They request for an immediate trade for traveling horses..." the restrained grumbles marked the clear opinion on this sudden petition, "to be used on their travels to Amberholm. They uh, also request joint travel, and uh, they're already on their way" concluded the messenger struggling to believe what he had just said.

As the current king of Fairlea's niblings, Echo and Ether had both been thoroughly coddled since childhood, with few cares and fewer responsibilities. Between the two of them, they had about enough worldly experience to fill a thimble, and not a whole lot more common sense.

Not a lot of Fairlean folk had a tremendous amount of either, to be fair, but they were more sheltered than most.

That meant there was a fairly high chance of absolute catastrophe should they be sent off to the Unification with just a crowd of farm lads for protection and guidance. Moreover, the packhorses that were used for shifting product weren't exactly of the right temperament for long bouts of riding, especially for complete novices like the pastel twins. The logical solution to both those problems was simple – the hasty note to the Dominion of Praxus.

It had been… well, not long since then, and the twins were approaching the assigned meeting point. The packhorses were stubborn and cranky, and they didn't seem to like having the two talkative and excitable siblings on their backs. Echo, in particular, seemed oblivious to the ever-increasing whinnies and head-tossing as her mount got rapidly more and more tired of the bubbly conversation they were holding. She definitely wasn't holding onto the reins properly, too busy trying to sketch as she rode.

"I'm telling you, he's gonna toss you," mumbled Ether, eyeing his sister as he patted his pockets down for the eighth time that day. It was a relatively long-winded affair that caused him to squirm and twist in his seat, which really didn't make him any better than her. His horse, too, was far from happy.

"He won't toss me, he's a nice horse! He knows I have to draw, don't you Spot?"

"I don't know if he understands that. I mean, look how flat his ears are. Can he even hear you? Smokes, do horses understand people talk anyway?"

"Maybe we can ask the Praxians. They know lots of things about horses, don't they? I mean, they make them, they must do. We must be almost there, right?"

It was around about that point when Spot finally seemed to tire of the inconsistent scratching sound behind his right ear and bolted, forcing Echo to drop everything and cling to the horse's neck. She managed to hold on for around thirty seconds or so – more than long enough for the horse to pelt around a sharp bend and straight into the middle of the Praxian formation – before she tumbled off the side with a sharp, scared cry.

Collectively, Praxians moved in what appeared to be a well choreographed maneuver wherein the stray horse was simultaneously approached, guided, restrained, and calmed. The formation was promptly back in place with an extra horse and the Lady Echo being held like a sack of potatoes by the Ambitor of Praxus.

The pain she'd been expecting was absent. Echo managed to open her eyes after a few moments of relative stillness, confusion barely visible in her expression.

"Elendi, let's be a little more gentle," Murdoch's horse shifted with his hesitation between staying in formation or reaching out for the girl.

Elendi looked down as if he'd forgotten he was holding something. He saw the fine clothes, the glossy pink hair, felt the frailty of the weight he carried, and then he sighed. Gently, he lifted her out of the sack-of-potatoes hold and comfortably sat her sideways onto his horse. Murdoch gave him a look of approval for which he then added, "are you alright, Princess of Fairlea?"

"I'm- yeah, I think I'm okay, I just…" She sounded a little shocked as she glanced down at her hands, which trembled just a little. They were surprisingly empty. "My sketchbook!"

"I told you he was gonna toss you," came her brother's voice. He was dismounting the temperamental thing on which he'd ridden thus far. "I'll get your stupid sketchbook, sit tight."

"Who asked you?"

"You want me to hide your pencils? Cos I'll do it, you know I will. You'll never find them if I take them."

"I- you—" Echo stuttered for a few moments, trying to find words for her brother, then abandoned the attempt and diverted her attention back to Elendi.

"I, uh… thank you. I'm Echo, and that's Ether," she pointed to her brother, who was wandering in their direction with the dropped items. "Uncle Gregor said we should thank you for the company. Also, he hopes cousin Cora is fitting in okay, he wanted me to ask you if she's homesick?"

"Princess Cora is in excellent care," Murdoch replied before Elendi had the chance to ask who that was, "my name is Murdoch Aristagoras, a distant relative of Ambitor Jorgen's and I can assure you he will do all he can to make your cousin comfortable. The young man with whom you are sharing a horse is Ambitor Elendi Vasernas."

"Aw, that's great to hear! I'm glad she's doing well; we were all worried when she left." Echo found herself beaming at Murdoch. He spoke with a flowing, polite ease that was more inviting than she'd expected a Praxian would be.

Elendi wasn't wearing his royal clothes yet, and the rank on his uniform was too subtle for unfamiliar eyes. Except for his windblown shoulder length hair, he would blend into the mass of soldiers. He was reminded of two tiny barking dogs he saw once in his travels. The blonde Aurum scholar to his left caught his glance and made a mental note of the bickering twin's first impression.

"We have better behaved horses for you, or the carriage if you prefer," Murdoch continued. By now the Praxian formation had assimilated the Fairlean belongings and brought forward said carriage. "Elendi, why don't you personally help them settle in so we can be on our way? I'm afraid we might have to forgo a stop in our schedule."

"Can I stay here with Elendi? I think I like riding, it's just that I can't control the horse and sketch."

"You're gonna get saddle sores," interjected Ether, handing the sketchpad and a pencil up to her. "I'm gonna sit in the carriage. Don't do anything weird to my sister, man."

"As it please you," replied Murdoch to the twins with a gentle pat to Elendi's shoulder.

A few glares were briefly pointed Echo's way at the utterance of their Ambitor's name coming titleless from her lips. Elendi simply dismounted, handing the reins to Murdoch before leading Ether to the carriage. The silent Ambitor took hold of Ether, easily lifting him off the ground like one does to a child when settling him onto a horse.

Echo was oblivious to the glares, or perhaps she just assumed that this was just how Praxians behaved. She just waited blithely for Elendi to return.

"Ey, woah! Just cos I said don't do the weird stuff to her doesn't mean you should do it to me!" The pink-haired lad had a huge playful grin on his face as Elendi hefted him up and into the carriage. "Man, you got hella muscle on you. You pulling logs for fun or something?"

"You're a strange kid," Elendi gave a rare smile. A tension no one knew they were holding was suddenly released, and Echo could hear Murdoch's small "a sign from the gods, I think I can breathe a little easier" mumble. When Elendi returned, without complaining about having to share his horse, Murdoch asked for another sign of the gods but Elendi merely signaled the Praxian formation with the forward motion of his horse.

"Let me know when you'd like to switch to the carriage, Princess Ether." There it was, thought Murdoch, thank the gods for now.

Somewhere behind them, Echo could hear Ether snorting.

"That's Echo," she told him with a smile even as the horse jerked into motion. The correction was friendly but firm. "I mean, I'm sure Ether would be happy to wear one of my dresses if you wanted, though! Between you and me, I think he stretched out my favourite pinny already."

"Yeah, I'll wear a dress. Gimme, like, five minutes."

Murdoch was too surprised to come up with the right words to fix- he didn't know what, but Elendi surprisingly replied, "I wouldn't mind seeing that."

 

[rissa]

A collaboration between @Falcon & @rissa​

The squall north of Sor Kal had been kinder than this carriage ride. Sleet and wind bit through his robes and wet the pages of his journals, true, but the rhythmic chanting of the Melodite sailors was a comforting melody against the storm. Loros shut his book in mild annoyance as the din outside grew. The carriage thumped its way across the cobbled road, a dull but steadying beat that Loros appreciated. But the voices— they were an awful distraction, hushed excitement and bawdy cheers that had no rhythm and did little to curb the small panic creeping up his throat.

He spared an apologetic glance at Isie, realizing he'd said little since the departure of their Praxian escorts.

"Do you think I should be worried? About today… about whatever's going to happen to us once this ceremony is over?" Loros leaned back against the cushioned seats, sneaking a peek out of the stained glass windows. "Are you worried?"

The woman sitting across from him, in the backwards facing seat, Shifted her attention from a point out the window to his face. Her green eyes maintained their wary alertness though, her muscles still coiled like a cat's ready to move at the slightest provocation despite her current seat inside the carriage. She'd much rather be one of the outriders, but they had all agreed to take turns and at the moment it was hers to sit inside.

"It depends, I suppose on what worries you." She started slowly, tucking a lock of silver behind her ear, although her face was that of one who couldn't be much more than thirty. Her mother had gone gray early as well. "If it's security I imagine the first few days will be the safest with everyone's guard on high alert. Your future partner and their guard will also want to see you safe, as if anything happens their heads will be the first to roll. Though I assure you the chances of that eventuality are extremely slim while the Jade Quinate heads your guard.

"As far as non-security issues… I can only answer that if you tell me your fears." It was perhaps a bold response to a question posed by her country's heir. But Isie had always had a bit of a problem maintaining the lines of propriety and formality.

Loros was coming to appreciate Isie's responses more and more. The Jade Quinate never minced her words nor twisted them up into a slurry that took weeks to decipher. No, she said what she meant and meant what she said and it was a refreshing glimpse into a world that wasn't his.

He shrugged in response, chewing on the inside of his lips as he thought things over.

"I am not worried about my physical safety," Loros stated softly, with somewhat of a laugh. He waved his hand dismissively, glancing back out the window as he did. "I feel safe in your care and your expertise is, uh, clear as day."

He smiled slightly, eyes dancing across the unfamiliar Ambers lining the roadside. The joy on their faces warmed him slightly, but it also tugged at something he couldn't quite grasp. "I-I suppose I'm mostly worried this is all some kind of farce… Just another ceremony with straw dolls and paper puppets."

Loros sighed and a dark look flashed across his face, "I also don't like being sold off to some other country with no say in the matter."

"I suppose all I can say on that matter is that at least there are…" Here Isie paused to count off on her fingers, "Ten?" she shook her head, "No. Nine, other people who probably feel exactly the same way. I cannot imagine that ten countries and ten heirs born from grandparents who underwent the same ceremony before them would continue to do this if it were only a farce. Stands to reason there's some point. Probably a bunch of trade negotiations that happen at this thing as well."

She shifted in her seat to get more comfortable, instinctively adjusting the falchion at her side to keep the hilt from jabbing her in the ribs. "Just so you know, sir, you don't go friendless to this thing. The five of us got your back no matter what happens. And for what it's worth, I'll never dance around what I think if you ever want my opinion."

Loros smiled appreciatively, nodding his head as if to accentuate his earnesty. "I'll always want your opinion, especially as we are now."

There was a melodic toot of a horn and Loros stole a glance out the window, the pink and seafoam green banner of his people rustling in an unfelt breeze as they neared the gates and the beginning of a new destiny.

 

[Itari]

collab with @Falcon

"Howl, don't do that." Moira told her friend with a grin, "It's weird." She pulled him into a tight hug before inspecting his preparations.

The Sor Kali delegation was small. Besides Moira and Howl, only Haskell, her Auroch advisor, and five guards were coming with her to Amberholm. The horses were borrowed from Praxus; Sor Kali horses were bred to thrive in cold climates and were ill-suited for long distance travel. "Thank you for getting everything ready."

She stopped in front of her own horse making last minute checks. On her back, was her father's bow. Strapped to her hip, her mother's bone knife. They would not be taking a carriage. There was still too much snow to use one within the country and they were already a day behind anyways. A carriage would slow them down even further.

It wasn't that Howl hadn't thought to prepare a carriage. He'd even briefly entertained the idea of locking the wheels and attaching removable runners but the process of adding them on and removing them at need took more time then desired. No, things were settled as they were to allow them to attempt to make up lost time. Not that Howl himself was particularly concerned with being late. He had the feeling any reasonable person would be doing the same as they were, given the situation.

"Shall I salute you instead? Or may I take that as permission to permanently forgo any formalities in your presence… save for when they will most benefit your image?" he added the last bit as an afterthought noticing the frown that was sent his way by Haskell of Aurum. Fair enough. Even Howl could imagine a situation or two where it would be better for him to be formal.

Moira laughed lightly. "Alright, I'll let you address me as you see fit then. When it's just us though, just treat me as you always have. Titles have never been important among our people in the first place and I wouldn't want our relationship to change." Haskell gave her a slightly disapproving look, which Moira handedly ignored as she mounted her horse.

"Wait Moira!"

Erik stopped before she could give the order to leave.

"Make sure you get your wedding dress from the Fairlea twins."

"My… wedding dress?"

"Your mother had it ordered before she passed. You can't exactly get married in what you're wearing right now."

She looked down at her clothes. They were traditional summer Sor Kali hunting clothes. Dark pants and a jacket made of hide, dyed blue and trimmed with fur. They looked perfectly fine to her, but she supposed, would not be appropriate wedding attire. "Fine. Howl, remind me to pick up my wedding dress."

"Of course!" he inclined his head in slight deference before bending down to lift Captain to the pad that had been attached to the back of his saddle. The old canine settled easily into place, draping himself longways across the rump to balance. Howl had been working with him on this trick ever since the horses had arrived. Technically, it had taken the trainer that had come with the horses to teach them both the trick.

"You may even send me to collect the dress for you if you like," Howl continued as he swung himself into the saddle." Howl was only slightly less awkward a rider than some of the others, but he figured the talent for riding, like anything, took practice, which they were about to get a lot of.

"I imagine many will see me only as your errand boy. Let's keep that illusion."

Moira raised an eyebrow, "Is that really necessary?" She turned to Haskell and repeated the question.

"The other heirs may think less of you if you let Howl address and treat you so casually. Don't forget, Your Majesty, royals in other countries have much more power and importance than they do here in Sor Kal."

Though she was clearly unhappy with the decision, she didn't argue. Instead, Moira wordlessly nudged her horse to the front of their small group. Her four sled dogs all jumped into various carts and made themselves comfortable, while her larger wolf dogs took their usual places on either side of her. Her horse stamped its feet nervously, superior Praxian breeding kept it from bolting.

"Everyone ready? Let's get out of here."

 

[Fiona]

"Elendi~!" There was a shout from the carriage as the Praxian entourage rolled closer to Amberhall. It was Ether this time, still speaking in the falsetto he'd adopted after squeezing himself into one of his sister's dresses. Echo's voice joined his after a moment.

"Elendi, come sit with us! We're nearly there and you look tired and grumpy, you should smoke with us, or Ether makes a really lovely tea!"

"Wait, no I can't do the tea in the carriage," came the rushed qualifier, "I definitely have some brownies though, if you don't mind day-old brownies. I like 'em after they've been able to sit for a bit."

The Fairlean twins had become rapidly more disruptive as the journey went on; at this point, the carriage was littered with numerous sketches, at least three pockets' worth of different ingredients including a large stash of mama, and a single, very confused mouse.

"Would it be so horrible Murdoch, if I dragged those two behind those bushes and returned alone?" The question was private and serious, almost wistful.

"Don't be so greedy, you'll get paired up with an heir soon. I've seen you eyeing them both so I know you like something about them at least." Murdoch knew better than to say no so quickly or directly.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"I know." Murdoch tightened his grip on the leash, "Play nice though? For me? It would be very horrible if you followed your heart right now."

"How unfortunate." Elendi pulled back his horse, slowing it to match the speed of the open carriage. Murdoch followed warily, setting himself within reach. Around them the formation tightened. The Ambitor entered the moving carriage easily, holding onto the canopy while a Praxian took the reigns of his horse. He took a seat, idly brushing one of the twin's hair behind the ear. A spark of life shone in his eyes at the flinching of those outside the open carriage rather than at the merriment of the two spoiled kids within it.

When Elendi entered, the twins were leaning on one another. Echo was in the process of applying pastel eyeshadow to her brother.

"What do you think? Does he make a convinci—" She cut herself off as the fingers trailed her hair, smoothing it back behind her ear. Her cheeks turned rather pink and the hand that had been applying the makeup wobbled, painting a similarly pink line from Ether's eye to his cheek.

"Hey, hey, pal, buddy, bro!" The falsetto was gone. "What you think you're doin'? I said don't do anything weird to her!"

"This from the Prince who decided to wear a dress for me."

Ether was not a fighter. Ether definitely didn't have the muscle or the technical skill to fight Elendi. But he bristled at him all the same.

"No- Ether, don't be a butt, he didn't mean any harm by it! Besides, you know that's the least of what's going to be needed of me when we get there, right?"

"Yeah, when you're married, though!"

"Have your mama lulu. I promise I'll just sit here and watch. No more touching."

"Are you sure, Elendi?" Echo was the one to speak up this time, a vague concern visible in her face. "About- about the mama, I mean. I really think it might help take the edge off before the unification."

It was becoming rapidly apparent, however, that she was the one who needed the blunting effect of the drug.

As they entered the capital city of Amberholm, and sound swelled around them, Echo's face paled, her eyes widened, and she began to cling onto Ether. He had begun fumbling in a pocket for what turned out to be a glass pipe, already loaded with mama. He lit it in rather a hurry, waited for the smoke to build up, and then presented it to his sister.

"Echo, inhale."

Only after some of the colour was back in her face and her expression had slackened back to a mellow, easy smile, did Ether finally take his own deep lungful. He held it for a long few moments before breathing out, then offered the pipe to Elendi.

"Last chance, man."

"You are very generous Prince Ether, Princess Echo," Murdoch replied over Elendi's shoulder, keeping pace with the carriage, "Ambitor Vasernas rarely relaxes his mama rule. Forgive him for the rejection of your kind offer."

From his lounging position, Elendi continued to watch the twins, indicating with a single back pointing finger that he both listened and agreed to the words Murdoch said. He still wore a regular Praxian uniform, his hair as windblown as it had been throughout their travels, and in no hurry to don the royal garments despite their hooves already stepping on Amberholm ground. Yet no one urged him to it.

"Suit yourself, Elendi, my dude. No skin off my nose." Each of the twins had a further pull of the pipe as the carriage rolled its way to a stop. In the moments afterwards, Ether scrambled for all the loose ingredients and drawings, pounced on the mouse – which was making a break for freedom – and spent at least two minutes finding places to stow them all.

"Thank you for bringing us," Echo told Elendi, barely restrained giggles colouring her voice. "It was fun. I hope you get someone nice from the unification."

"Here, present," Ether interjected in turn, shimmying over to Elendi, procuring what was definitely a live frog from a pocket, and rehoming it into the Praxian's. "Little friend for you. Just don't lick his back or you'll get a contact high."

The twins started the process of traipsing out of the carriage and off into the belly of the Keep, their persistent bubble of chatter now broken by the occasional burst of laughter.

"Well, that went well," Murdoch slumped over, finally showing his exhaustion. "It wasn't so bad, see? They were polite… in their own way, and you all got along well in the end."

Elendi pulled the frog out of his pocket and tossed it onto the empty seats, "Sure."

 

[unanun]

[with the wonderful @Karo]

"Gilead."

"Gilead!"

The wood and plaster streets of Amberhall were a welcome change from the smooth, overgilded facades of Argentum, poured from rehydrated stone. Miah's head lolled upside down over the carriage door, taking in the people over a fresh hit of claritas. At this dosage, it made every strand of blonde hair in the woman's braid distinct, and it made them countable, Miah twisting to follow her as the carriage passed by.

"I count fifty and fifty-one braids on each of the girl's tails. Someone has been an industrious lady today!"

"Fifty and fifty one — what? That is how Elowen-"

"..."

"Elowen. Elowen!!"

The carriage listed as Gilead scrambled over. Miah's flipped countenance was sucked back inside and replaced with the other first class scholar, trying to look prim while hissing across the crowd. Elowen pulled her focus from the back of the carriage and beamed, quickly scrambling off the man's shoulders as it slowed and pulled to the side, allowing the young woman to embark with little fuss. As she settled onto the seat, she began to flip through her blue notebook.

"Clarissimus Gilead, Clarissimus Miah, you won't believe the things I saw and the notes I got!" she exclaimed, occasionally flipping the book outward so they could see.

"When did you split off from-" Gilead attempted with a tense smile, but Miah cut over: "Please tell me you've got something that isn't the same flora and fauna we've seen for leagues."

Elowen deflated a little, but kept her book open to see. "Maybe not from a botanical perspective, but from an anthropological perspective, the arrivals have been fascinating. Look, here–" she thumbed through the pages until she came to her notes. "Right before you came, I saw the heirs from Fairlea and Praxus arrive. Two of them were smoking something, I think it was uh-" she paused, uncertain of the name. "Mama lulu! That's what they grow in Fairlea, right?"

Miah's lips quirked upward, like a cat. "Indeed. The dummy weed. Isn't that right, Gilead?"

"Preceptor says it dulls the mind."

"My father calls it fool's flower," Elowen added.

"Only for those who haven't mastered it."

The iron-shod wheels fell silent as the cobblestone gave way to huge sections of interlocking slate, and they entered the main square of Amberholm, passing underneath towering flowered arches. Business and celebration blended into a unified buzz, revelers throwing flowers and potpourri meant for their homes onto the carriages, which mixed in with confetti tossed from balconies.

"The arches look just like your braids, Elowen," sighed a distracted Gilead.

Elowen blushed slightly, lightly touching her braids. The blush faded quickly as she realized they were coming upon the castle. The young woman couldn't hide her excitement as she looked up at Gilead with a smile. "Clarissimus Gilead, are you excited?" she asked, her own enthusiasm clear. "I wonder who you'll be matched with."

"I've been thinking about it nonstop!" Gilead perked up, brushing away ivory bangs. "I can't even redirect myself with sums or other puzzles. I've heard that the heiress from Las Valoradas is … difficult. I'm- I don't think I would be a good match. Oh, have you seen the letters from Apollonia? So beautiful, so organized! I've been on a trip to Matzem, but I never saw Caoileann, they said she was sick … and it was such a pleasure to-"

Miah snorted. "Boring. Boring! While you're busy being chained, Elowen and I will be doing far more interesting things."

"You're going to be contracted, too!" Gilead snapped.

"I'll find someone with far more potential than those figureheads."

Elowen watched the two scholars argue in awe. A little overwhelmed, she snuck a glance out of the carriage window to see the open gates of the castle coming into view. "Oh, look now!" Elowen proclaimed, pointing out the carriage window with excitement. "The castle!"

The crowd had thinned by now, quelled by the presence of guards. Stone turrets came into view alongside the bronzed gates, manned by four heavily armored men. The Auroch carriage passed under the stone arch, coming into a round clearing where a few other carriages dotted the area, horses still attached. Elowen stared out the window in wonder, trying to catch a glimpse of one of the other heirs.

"You're not gonna see anyone," Miah mumbled with a cheek mashed against the door frame. "The ceremony is in three day's time."

"Aw…" Elowen mumbled, looking back at the two older scholars. "Say, Clarissimus Miah, do you really mean it? Will we be adventuring and learning together?" she asked, her voice hopeful.

"If you don't wander off again, I'll take you with me to a few dances."

"Oh!" The young scholar couldn't help but bounce in her seat, her delight evident. "That would be so fun!"

Miah snorted, but could not hide a paternal smile. The Aurum delegation ground to a halt, and the black robes of the first class Scholars touched stone as they disembarked for their rooms.

 

[fatalrendezvous]

Nanette and Helene stood side by side atop a small dais in the reception hall of the Great Keep of Amberholm. Behind them were several members of the Amberguard, including Ser Gyrard and Holden Meriva, Helene's brother. Gathering in the hall before them were the nine heirs to be wed in the Unification, and several of their delegates.

…But were there nine? Nanette counted again, making sure she included Helene. Nan may have been getting up in years, but certainly this bit of basic arithmetic couldn't have escaped her.

…six, seven, eight. Counting Helene made nine. It should have made ten.

Why nine? She scanned the banners - and for the nations that hadn't brought banners, their manner of dress.

"We are still missing the heir from Sor Kal," Nanette whisper-hissed at Helene.

Helene, ever calm, maintained her outward smile towards their guests as she responded. "We never even received a Sor Kali advisor to oversee setting up the living quarters for Princess Moira and her retinue."

"Has there been any word at all? No rider coming in advance of the princess herself? No courier pigeon?"

Helene feigned a soft chuckle when she shook her head, not wanting to give away that anything was amiss. Nan's brows scrunched together, her fingernails nervously picking at a bit of the lace embroidery in her sleeve. Was it withdrawal from the Unification? They had received at least written confirmation that Princess Moira En Mar would be attending. If she did not show, was that a sign that there might be something darker at play? The Sor Kali were not known for their subterfuge, but who could say for certain?

However, with the other nine heirs accounted for and already beginning to gather for their formal welcome, she didn't have the time to further ponder the implications for what it would mean if one nation was absent and remained absent.

"I know that face," Helene jabbed, resting her hand on Nan's wrist. "Relax, Nan. Don't jump to the worst outcome just yet. I'm sure they have a good reason for being late. They probably… got delayed by snow. They'll show up. Either way, we'd best get started."

Helene gave Nan's arm a little squeeze as she descended the steps to join her fellow heirs, leaving Nanette alone atop the dais. The graying stewardess managed to collect herself, and gave a deep bow at the waist in gratitude and welcome. "Heirs of the eighth Unification, thank you for making the journey in. I am Nanette Sharr, stewardess of Amberhall. The… delegation from Sor Kal apologizes for their tardiness," she lied. "They are running a bit behind and expect to be here within a few days. The schedule for the Unification remains on track."

Nanette's eyes flicked over to Helene's face at the front of the crowd; the heiress gave her the subtlest nod she could manage. Up on the dais, Nanette took a deep breath to calm herself, then looked into the eyes of each of the heirs in turn, a smile brightening her wrinkled features.

"For some of you, the Unification is a chance to strengthen your nation's alliances, to secure your nation's position on the world's stage. For some it's a chance to find love, to build a new life with a partner from a distant land. For others still it's a duty thrust upon you; one you didn't ask for, perhaps one you don't even want. Regardless the reason, the Unification is a ritual which has been the cornerstone of peace in this land. The people of Iskiela, and their children, and their children's children, will come to know of you through history and song. Allow me to be the first to thank you all for taking part in this time-honored peacekeeping tradition, and for being a piece of our world's shared culture, and history."

Nanette seemed to glow in response to the polite applause from the crowd. "Once the heir from Sor Kal arrives, I will draw the pairings and post them on a bulletin here in the great hall. There will be a day of weddings, then a great feast, and then a fortnight for you all to plan and make arrangements for travel back to your homes - or new homes, for some of you." She gestured towards the handmaids and servants lined up along the walls. "Throughout that time, the hospitality of Amberhall is yours. Our servants will see you to your quarters and do their best to provide you with every comfort. Make yourselves at home. Feel free to explore the city, and get to know your fellow heirs."

"I'm sure you're all weary from your travels, so I'll not take any more of your time. My study is just down this hall, and any of the servants will be able to help you find it - or me - should you have any questions. The rest of the evening is yours, my lords and ladies. Enjoy, and once again, thank you, and welcome."

 

[Lesbingus]

Caoileann listened politely to Nanette's speech, leaning upon her staff. The Matžem delegation was, perhaps, the smallest there. A mere three. Caoileann stood above the lot of them like a wind-swept willow, eyes fixated upon the two Ambers upon the dais. When the speech concluded, she began to agonizing shuffle forward; followed closely by her two attendants, Blazh and Dalibor.

"Druid, ye should be restin', nae shufflin' about," ever worried Blazh rumbled.

Caoileann smiled, shaking her head. Onward she continued, pausing occasionally to catch her breath. Ambers rarely visited Matžem Dag; the chance to speak with someone from the central nation was something Caoileann had been craving for a while. It had been the main reason she had thrown her lot in with the heir vote. As the crowds began to disperse, she began to head towards the dais-- one slow, painful step at a time. She raised a hand in greeting as she paused half-way to catch her breath, her two attendants hanging a few steps behind, looking anxiously between one another.

"Lady Helene." She took in a deep breath. "I have heard tales of the Wardeness of Amberholm. I am glad to finally get a chance to meet you."

Once more she began the walk, eventually reaching the Wardeness. She faltered, briefly, but Blazh-- ever dependable-- was there just in time, supporting the Druid's shoulders and helping her keep her balance, allowing her to fall back against him to rest. She held up a hand in apology to Helene.

"I am Caoileann Ó Deághaidh Mac Giolla Ghlais of Matžem Dag; though I am sure you already know this. The Matžem clans have not forgotten the debt we owe Amberholm."

She extended one long, bony hand, the fingers quivering. Sweat beaded Caoileann's brow, and Blazh endeavored a little more fiercely to keep the Druid upright. She paused, eyes screwing shut.

"Forgive me. I am in poor health..."

She took in a great, rasping breath, which devolved into a hacking coughing fit. She brought a handkerchief to her mouth, wheezing into it for several long, painful moments. When she brought it away, it was impossible to disguise the red that now marred the white of the once pristine cloth.

"...Not that such a setback will stop me from participating in the Unification. Or repaying my debts."

 

[Hecatoncheires]

After a brief yet fraught debate at the doors to the Great Keep, Nero had managed to get the rabble of mercenaries at his back to move in some semblance of professionalism as they passed into the reception hall. Brother Luca had even agreed not to unsling his hammer for the duration of the introductions, and a quiet word to Niccolo had ensured that a pair of eyes would be remaining on Il Gigas at all times. Just to ensure he stayed away from any visiting dignitaries and their possessions. It was akin to letting a herd of unruly foxes into a particularly stuffed hen coop, perhaps, but he was reasonably certain they wouldn't cause a fuss. Not until after the introductions, at least.

Besides, he'd brought them along to make a statement. 'Behold the new management of Bocaccia'.

Nero stood at the head of his delegation, his fingers drumming a staccato beat on the pommel of his longsword in a manner he knew would especially irritate the Aurum scholar standing next to him. Canid's eyes were narrowing at the sound, but they were alert all the same. Soaking in the sights around him, the faces. Analysing. Calculating. Together they took in the speech given by Amberhall's Stewardess, both of them glancing at one another as the woman hesitated over her explanation for Sor Kal's delay.
"And after all the trouble I went through to try and be fashionably late to my own wedding," Nero lamented, grinning. "Perhaps we should have let Il Gigas visit that estate on the border after all."
"I believe his intentions were less about visiting it and more to do with burning it to the ground, my Prince," Canid noted, "but regardless, this is most intriguing. You note the tension in the Amberholm delegation?" The Bastard Prince cast his gaze across the figures standing on the dais, his gaze lingering upon the red-haired woman standing next to the Stewardess.
"She does not strike me as tense, Master Scholar."
"Naturally. That is Helene Meriva, Wardeness of Amberholm and daughter of the present Magistrate. She is not one easily phased."
"So that sword at her side is for show? A signifier of title?"
"I am told not. Amberholm is a republic, my Prince. Titles and ranks are not inherited here, but earned." Nero pursed his lips, examining their hosts further.

With their republic and their Senate, the Ambers are the Bocaccian nobility's worst nightmare. And their wealth would be welcome besides. But a Senate is slow, indecisive. No sooner is a decision reached before it is second guessed. And that woman looks like she would see right through me.

The opening speech was barely concluded when the first of the Heirs made her way to the dais. Or shuffled her way, might be the more apt descriptor for it. Tall and gangly, painfully thin, supported by a man mountain and a fellow who looked just wiry enough to be extremely dangerous in Nero's estimations.
"The Matžem delegation," Canid whispered, following their painful progress through the hall. "If memory serves, and it always does, that would be Caoileann Ó Deághaidh Mac Giolla Ghlais. Their Heir."
"Inferna, Canid, her name's longer than her fucking life expectancy! They sent her all the way from the Clan Lands?"
"Keep your voice down!" the scholar hissed, eyes darting about nervously, "do you want that giant she has with her to hear you?"
"Not the giant you want to worry about, Scholar," Patchwork Palmiro rumbled behind them. Nero chuckled.
"The big man draws the eye…" he recited.
"...the small man draws the blade," Palmiro finished, his scar-coated face contorting into the mockery of a grin. Even as Nero smiled, however, he continued to watch the Matžem woman on the dais.

She looks like death. That she made it all the way here speaks to her willpower… and her sense of obligation. Is that a reflection of her people as a whole? I've met a few Matžem warriors in my time. Their fighting skills would be as welcome as their food stocks, but would they be willing to fight purely for duty?

Outside the crowds continued to throng. Inside, the assembled guests were beginning to break up. Canid was still watching the dais with open curiosity.
"Shall we make our introductions as well, my Prince?" the scholar asked, "I should like to find out where we are to be staying, and to start getting my--"
"Introductions, claro. An excellent suggestion." Nero immediately spun on his heels and strode off. It took Canid a full two seconds to realise his ward was moving in the complete opposite direction of the dais. He sucked in a breath, mouth opening to call out. Then his face dropped. His mouth tightened into a thin line.
"Honestly," the Scholar muttered, "I don't know why I bother sometimes."

Fingers still drumming a beat on his longsword pommel, Nero cheerfully shouldered his way through the assembled guests. Heading directly towards the Kulvulcan banner. The banner of the Black Company.

 

[Mglo]

"What do you make of them?" Murdoch's worried eyes followed the Matžem heir despite his question being directed at her.

"Typical of their origins, Protector Murdoch. History leaves a mark on us all." Kilan's origins were revealed only by the redness under her eyes and lips, while the rest of her was marked by Praxus: short neat hair, simple dark blue tailored short coat with identically styled trousers tucked into dark calf length boots, and a single silver embroidered emblem over her right shoulder to signal a more specific Praxian mark. Only the simple silver rings on each of her fingers was a mark of her own making. She stood very still except for slow fingers that rotated rings, and eyes that searched through the folds of loose fabric about the tall heir of the 13 Melodies.

Murdoch smiled warmly back at her and added, "do you include Sor Kal's lateness in that statement, I wonder." He had meant to tease, but could not hold back the Praxian disapproval at the idea of habitual tardiness.

She turned back to her point of interest. Muscle mass was hard to discern, but the curvature of his posture spoke of patterns all too familiar to her. Her eyes reached his white streaked hair and the name came to her: Loros Lumenstile. "It is hard to say if their disregard for time is typical, as they largely keep to their land, but my conjecture would exclude them from my statement, Protector Murdoch," she heard the sigh but still refused to let herself not use his title. Someone like him could seep in through your skin, she thought, and before you knew it become part of you. A different kind of dangerous from most Praxians. Heir Lumenstile too could hide danger beneath his clothing layers, though cultural evidence pointed to a developed mind and there lay potential capacity.

"Maybe I'm just worried, Kilan. One of them will marry our Elendi after all, and I wonder if there's a chance it may be someone that could make him happy."

Kilan struggled to hold back a smile. It was typical of him to worry, and to wholeheartedly look out for someone he cared about. Like the heat of the hearth after a night shift patrol in the north, it seeped right through the skin. "Ambitor Vasernas is very fortunate to have you worry, Protector Murdoch. With your guidance, I am sure he will manage his situation with dutiful restraint."

"Don't fool yourself Kilan, or maybe it's for my sake you speak. In one year you've come to know our Elendi as a very special child. He gets in his own way, his decision-making is questionable outside the army, and he doesn't try very hard to be social, so he's going to need all our help to complete this mission right. "

"I've been standing right here you know?" Elendi looked majestic in his dark blue long coat with intricately silver embroidered edges that made his blue eyes that much more piercing. The tailored fit was perfection over his well trained body and the silver vines that covered his gloves gave a delicate touch to his appearance. His hair was neatly combed back with a slight side part and hair tucked behind his ears. The perfect image of a Praxian royal. Kilan straightened the way she would when she received top marks.

"And you've looked very strong and pretty, you're doing great. Kilan outdid herself with your hair, it fits your bone structure very nicely like she said, so let's not disappoint the other heirs too early," Murdoch gently squeezed Elendi's shoulder as if the pride in his eyes fully reflected his words.

"Shall I procure a servant to see us to our quarters?" She had already taken a step to the side, predicting the Protector's answer.

"No, Pet. I'm not tired."

Murdoch crossed his arms clearly torn between the idea of Elendi mingling or going to his rooms, but Elendi's eyes looked to the windows and that was perhaps a more worrying scenario while the crowds were gathered.

"Drinks then, I shall inquire." Kilan walked away, people-watching as she made her way through towards the servants.

 

[Fiona]

collab with @unanun
​

Neither Echo nor Ether had been expecting to have to sit at peace through a speech when they got inside. Each of them had been fidgeting throughout Nanette's greeting words. There had been at least one bout of whispering. By the time the stewardess had stopped talking, Echo's shoulders were shaking with ill-contained giggles, and Ether had buried his nose into one of the pockets in the robe he was still carrying.

Even if he was going to wear Echo's dresses, he wouldn't be parted from his pockets.

"Who do you think looks safe, Ether? We should try and get to know people!"

"The nerds, maybe? Nerds are pretty safe, usually. They can't hit that hard, at least." He grinned as he refolded the robe across his arm, leaving one of the pockets in particular accessible.

The frog pocket.

"Oh, we forgot to ask Elendi about whether horses can understand human talk. Do you think we could ask one of them?" Echo turned to stare at one of the aforementioned 'nerds', all black and white from head to foot.

"I reckon they're probably smart enough, yeah. Hey, Specky, my dude!" Ether bounced off in Gilead's direction, dragging his sister behind him.

The two scholars were huddled together in the middle of the crowd, whispering to each other with a practiced volume loud enough only for the two of them. Their white shirts were hidden inside their robes, whose simplicity deflected gazes like polished oilskin in the rain. As the twins neared, they entered this bubble and caught the last snatches of the conversation.

"… tell you but not the hosts?"

"The letter must be on its way."

"She sent yours by crow, but this one by ass?"

"Bro, does anyone use donkeys for delivery?" The scholars met the twins gaze for gaze, conspiracy flaring away from their faces to leave naivete. Ether had to comment on the little snippet of conversation he caught. At some point he had found some manner of middle ground between the falsetto and his usual speaking voice.

"We thought we'd come say hi before everyone takes off, in case not everyone had as much fun on their trip here as we did!"

"That and maybe find some people for a sleepover, since our parents aren't here to tell us no. Assuming folks here aren't all like the Praxian dudes, I mean. Don't think they'd like sleepovers."

"Of course mail is sent by donkey," Miah slowly enunciated. "No other animal is as efficient by weight."

"That's different though, innit? Letters aren't heavy."

"Maybe they are when smart people write them?"

"Hm. Hey, smart dudes, do you know if horses understand human speak?"

"..." Miah's face flattened to a calm facade.

"They might be able to understand a few words? But that's more that they learn the association between words and actions, if you train them to associate rewards with desired behaviours." Gilead stepped in front of Miah, palms facing upward from his hips in a placating gesture.

"See? I told you Spot wasn't understanding you. No wonder you got tossed."

"You're never gonna drop that are you?"

"Nope!"

"Well at least I got to ride with Elendi because of it!"

"Thinks I'm prettier, though, doesn't he?" Ether cast a smug grin at his sister, then inflicted himself on Gilead, since he was the closer of the scholars, slinging an arm across his shoulders. "I think it's cos I gave him a present, y'know. Anyway. Which one of you lot is gonna be getting married?"

There was only one scholar left at this point; Miah had wandered away. Gilead buckled a bit under Ether's weight, but valiantly straightened to meet his gaze.

"That would be me. But I don't think we will be married. Afterall, we are both men."

"Ether, don't drape yourself on people like that, mama told you it's rude," Echo chastised him lazily.

"Mama's not here, and he doesn't mind, right?" A quick squeeze was applied to Gilead's shoulders. "Nah though, man, I'm not getting married. I'm just here to make sure nobody's a jerkwad to my sister and that she doesn't have to eat the hot swill most people serve up."

"You still haven't asked if you're gonna be allowed to take over the kitchens. What if they don't let you?"

"I'll make a fire pit in our room, then."

"The wheel of politics is not spun by honesty. We will all have to be careful."

"Dude, that's some four-smokes-deep kinda talk. You just have stuff like that casually ready to go? Aurum folk really do have more brains, huh."

"You think politics is gonna be a big thing?" Echo looked worried now. "I don't know politics."

"Nobody knows politics. Arty was meant to be the politics bro and he didn't even know them."

"Politics is when you want something from someone, and convincing them the proper way is too much effort." Their confusion finally shook away Gilead's shyness, who straightened up from under Ether's grip and stood facing them like a teacher. "Don't you have a tutor from Aurum, or someone in your court, who has gone over the basics with you?"

"Tutor?"

"Cousin Arty had one of those, I think!" This, at least, Echo knew. "He was the crown prince so he was the person who had to learn things. He didn't enjoy it very much. I don't think they were from Aurum, though."

"Oh yeah, that's why he couldn't come to the midnight feasts in the middle of the week, wasn't it?"

"I think so." Her attention floated dreamily back to Gilead. "Is it really that important? I thought you could just be nice to people or give them presents to get what you wanted."

"It's worked out for you so far," the scholar recalled, "but I wonder …" wonder how long it can go on.

"You wonder?"

"He's a scholar, course he wonders. Aurum folk think too much."

"That's not very nice, Ether."

"Neither's he, not even told us his name yet."

"Neither have you!"

"Yeah, but I have presents."

"I don't know what difference that makes."

"I am Gilead, of no surname. You are Ether, and she is Echo." Gilead gave the bow from Aurum, buckling the knees so black robes bloomed on the smooth tiled floors. "It is my pleasure to meet the heirs from Fairlea. I hope to see more of you in the future, but I must make my introductions to the others here."

"Why don't you have a surname?" Was the first question out of Ether's mouth, though it wasn't clear he expected an answer based on the quick detour that followed. "Wait, wait, no, present for you first, you're not allowed to go yet!"

He started to fumble around in the robe he carried, sinking a hand almost elbow-deep into a pocket. Echo dissolved into giggles as he re-emerged with a second of his many frogs, looking triumphant.

"Here! Friend for you. Don't lick his back or you'll get a contact high."

"It was nice to meet you! I hope you have fun and match well!" There was a second or two of vague laughter, a wave from Echo, and the twins began to wander off in search of another 'safe' individual. Gilead was left blinking in their wake, palm very much outstretched and not disturbing the frog. Almost as soon as their saccharine aura dissipated, Miah was back again, sweeping the frog into the same leather sack that contained the partially dissected rat.

"Wash your hands. I'll let you know later if it was safe."

"You're so bored that you will find intrigue in anything, Miah. Let's go greet some other heirs. Oh, which one will I marry? Echo would be … I don't know if we could understand each other …"

The Aurochs continued talking past each other as they wandered off.