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Post by psychopathickids on Oct 15, 2014 8:54:32 GMT
Though nothing remarkable in scope nor especially attractive in adornment the Servo Tacita, part time pleasure barge, part time trading ship of Gaius Vibius of House Lucilius was if nothing else large, complete with full sail, fore and aft castle, and clearly capable of housing a thousand armed men along with her own retinue of merchant marines and seamen at least, though her presence in the waters of Elon drew few glances and held even fewer. Despite the destruction wrought upon the nations of the Southern Shores during the Survaek incursions Elon had fared rather well, relatively speaking, many among her own people, and even a few of her neighbors attributing her continued success to the administrative and mercantile genius of their Queen Consort, a Southerner who had met with the misfortune of having been married off by her beleaguered family to an oaf such as Azlyn Christallo. Others among the population of her fellow Northmen, and even a few of her own more outspoken subjects regarded her as a tool of the Survaek meant to further wrest freedom from the sovereign nations of the North, however, and as of yet it hadn’t become especially clear which of the two sides was most correct.
He had heard the stories of Evyn, King of Elon, and the martyr Oleo, and heard tell of the, ‘saintly lineage,’ the Vaekirate considered the family to be possessed of, but the aging man, easily into his late fifties if he was a day, had never met a Christallo who was much more than a gluttonous drunk, concerned only with good food that wasn’t especially good for you, wines and spirits of fine vintage, and women of loose morals and ill repute --, not that this bothered Gaius any, on the contrary he had made his fortune in the trade of women, liquor, and delectable sweets, much and more of which had been imbibed by one member of Elon’s royal family or another over the years on one of the numerous, ‘hunting trips, pleasure cruises, and routine patrols,’ which found them upon the once glorious docks and piers of the East Harbor district in Juturnapolis, a district whose brothels, watchmen, and customs houses, official and otherwise, he had controlled with an iron fist before the South burned them to the ground, slaughtering citizen and soldier alike in the port during their furious charge upon the Temple of the Seven on Thessaly’s Hill.
Putting his Servo Tacita to anchor in a seemingly unused portion of the trade harbor in Donahue before disembarking, her captain and a lone manservant approached the harbor master and, dropping a few coins into his palm to cover her docking fees continued onward into the district proper. Which was to say, what seemed to be all three city blocks of the district proper. It wasn’t Lucente of old, nor even one of Juturna’s modern harbor districts, but it was a good deal nicer than many of the rather unsavory locations Gaius’ travels had seen him visit in the name of the Republic, trade and diplomacy. Deciding to stop by a nearby tavern before carrying on to the mannor at Percepolis, near empty at this time of day with the bar manned by a singleton keeper, Gaius took a seat at the stool nearest the door, his skulking guardsman lurking behind him all the while, arms crossed, eyes locked with those of the barman and glaring. “Excuse me my good barkeep, but might my man and I place an order? A pint of your worst ale for him, a glass of fresh well water with lemon squeezing and a serving of soft shelled crab, lightly pan seared in the oil of the olive for myself, if you would be so kind,”
The bartender, short, stout and dark of skin, brown eyed and balding at the crown never broke eye contact with Gaius’ manservant, instead crossing his own arms and frowning slightly at the corner of his lips in a display which probably didn’t express warm feelings or heartfelt greetings and welcome to these particular strangers upon Elon’s shores. “We have ale, chips, and fried fish, my good sir,” taken aback, the Juturnan responded, “By the Seven, have you any idea of the horrors such an unhealthy diet will wrought upon the human body!?” The barkeep had just enough time to get out, “We keep Aed in this house, heath --,” before being cut off rather rudely, “Do the fish of the seas or the birds of the skies deep fry their catch!? But of course not! So much lard and drippings causes one to become sluggish of movement, dim of wit, preternaturally round of waist and, worst of all, leads to irregularities in the movements of the bowel!” If Gaius’ bodyguard was surprised by this turn of events it didn’t show upon his face; no doubt this was a rather common occurrence with regards to his employer and foreign innkeeps.
Finally having broken eye contact with the skulking manservant, if only to cast Gaius an incredulous look, the barkeep took a deep breath, turned away from the bar shaking his head all the while, and poured the two a mug each of his worst, and only ale. Placing them in front of his customers before demanding a few coppers in recompense, the bodyguard drained his mug with a few rapid swallows, as his employer looked his own glass over, sniffing at the contents before looking up at the bartender as he handed his drink over to his man, placing a silver scale, more than twenty times the value of the drinks on the bar, and stood to leave with a few polite words of thanks. Dropping the mug in hand upon the floor with a loud crash, the manservant looked to the bartender once more as if to say, “oops,” before turning with a smirk to follow his employer out the door. “Not to worry Sextus, the manner isn’t so very far now, and no doubt the fair King and Queen Christallo will be more accommodating than a simple innkeeper,” within the hour they were there, the traditional seat of Elon’s royal family, and would presumably be met by household guard momentarily, demanding to know what the pair of foreigners were doing here no doubt.
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Post by missmilkmaid on Oct 15, 2014 9:40:06 GMT
The manor house was simple and unimpressive, save for the fabulous view it held over the country, city and the bay below. To the left were the sparkling waters of the sea as well as the anchored Servo Tacita, her great hulk appearing small from this distance. To the right were the rolling hills of Elon, dotted with the orchards of the orange trees and the badge of the winter olive groves. Near by, horses neighed at their lines and the laughter of a child was heard, before the longhouse doors were opened. A toddler with a head of curly hair bolted out like an arrow of a bow. Giggling with malicious glee, she nearly tripped the guard who was holding the door and dashed between the legs of Gaius and Sextus.
A harassed looking maidservant came up behind the door guard, breathless and apologetic.
“Begging most sincere pardons, My Lords,” she said, nodding her head to them, before slipping out the door as well, “My Little Lady, Princess!” she called after the child, hurrying around a mud puddle and toward the horse lines after the child.
The door guard looked sheepish, and cleared his throat, “Good Sirs, ah, His Majesty and his wife welcome you to Elon. We saw your ship arrive at the port and the Queen awaits you in the hall. Please come in.”
Stepping back, he made room for Gaius and Sextus to enter.
“Regrettably, my lord, King Azlyn is away hunting in Barita Village, but he should return within a few short days. Whom shall I announce to the Queen?”
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Post by psychopathickids on Oct 16, 2014 22:41:46 GMT
"Oh no, no, apologies are not necessary my lady," though the maidservant had run off chasing her charge toward the horse lines, and the guardsman had already finished speaking, Gaius carried on seemingly oblivious to the situation about him. “Mine own daughter was quite the handful when she was of that age… Six, eight seasons? She was a daughter of Spring, and seemed to know as such from the moment she came into this world --, always running about through the gardens and fields of my villa upon Thessaly’s Hill, introducing herself to everyone she met, be they servant, commoner or well to do merchant, she cared naught. Her mother always feared for her, worrying that she might find her way into a busy street and be trampled underfoot by the heedless press, fall to her death upon one of the many rocky sea side cliffs or into one of the numerous wells from which those upon the hill draw the water which is our life’s blood, or find herself invited by cunning spider into prettiest of little parlors from which none return for all I know, and ordered her maidservants to follow her about the capital incessantly, which, to be sure, only caused her to run all the farther, and with greater conviction,”
Sighing as he stood upon the porch and peered off towards the sea evidently lost in thought as to the past and all the things that might have been different, for a few moments the vibrant gleam behind blue eyes and vigor of the man’s effortlessly jubilant nature faded, and for once he looked every day his own age. His appointment to this delegation was not by mistake nor sheer happenstance, and though his relations with the former, and first King of the Crowned Republic of Juturna on the Southern Shores, Janus of House Makris had been tenuous at best long before the war of Survaek aggression had seen Lucente fall with the rest of the North upon its gluttonous sword, he had been the clear choice for Castellan in the absence of his little princess --, rather Queen; he was too old to be expected to march with the infantry proper, too far removed from the graces of House Makris to have been appointed a member of the royal guard or commanding officer despite his having formerly held the position of Legate in the Seventh Army of the Republic, and was the closest thing to royalty who hadn’t marched East with the main body of Kallista’s forces.
As it were, Gaius had been a shoe-in for the position of King of the Crowned Republic, easily having the best claim by right of membership to the Major Branch of House Lucilius and being possessed of the greatest influence in the Gran Consiglio of Lucente before her fall of any among the families of Juturna, a fact any neighbor so close to Juturna would be well aware of, and all that had separated him from being awarded the title were eighteen of the most brutal hours of his, by human standards, rather long and violent life; should he have surrendered to the Survaek before or in time with House Makris as opposed to having insisted upon the seemingly suicidal task of defending the Temple of the Seven to the last man he may well have been meeting the Queen Consort of Elon as a fellow monarch rather than as a representative of Queen Kallista, not that he begrudged her any --, he was rather fond of his young Queen, as it were, and despite the bitter rivalry with her father which extended back nearly throughout his entire adult life had gladly consented to his daughter’s marriage to Janus’ good cousin, which made his eldest grandson the heir to the Crowned Republic should Kallista continue to remain unmarried.
The two, Leonidas and Kallista, were nearly of an age and had been fast friends during their youth and to the present day, and though his grandson’s paternal great uncle technically commanded her royal guard by right of seniority and experience Leo was the clear choice for his successor once the old man finally got around to dying; he was intelligent, dashing, and absolutely devoted to his second cousin, likely due to the same reasons Gaius found himself so attached to her, the two had spent most of their childhood together after all, and though neither had technically been fostered under one or the other’s roof they may as well have, most every night having been spent together in his or Janus’ homes, and every day having their way of Juturna by one another’s side, and both he and his old rival had watched the two grow into the unique individuals they had become together over the years, much of the past misgivings between himself and his former King having healed only because of their mutual involvement in the lives of one another’s wards, no doubt serving as the glue which had held the Houses Lucilius and Makris together fast enough to keep from open rebellion over titles and crowns breaking out between the two competing factions.
Snapping back to the present moment with the shifting of gaze from sea to the man before him, a deep breath and a high, bobbing bow at the shoulders as if in apology for forgetting himself before the guardsman, the easy smile which characterized his features nearly so much as everything else about his person combined returned as he responded to the question asked of him several awkwardly silent moments before. “Forgive me my good sir, I seem to have forgotten myself --, I fear I am not so young as I once was, and my mind has become increasingly prone to unseemly wanderings with the passing of the seasons. I am Gaius Vibius of House Lucilius, Castellan of Juturnapolis, and representative of her grace Kallista Eudokia of House Makris, Queen of the Crowned Republic of Juturna on the Southern Shores. I come bearing the best wishes and hopes for the continued prosperity of our neighbors in the kingdom of Elon on behalf of my leige, and proposals for the establishment of trade routes between our two nations, among other tidings from the lands to the North of our shores, and would humbly request an audience with her grace Queen Christallo at her soonest convenience,”.
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Post by missmilkmaid on Oct 16, 2014 23:48:27 GMT
The door guard looked completely overwhelmed by the plethora of tittles Gaius passed on to him and a looked close to terror crossed his face, as he tried to remember it all just right and could not. He then couldn't decide which would be worse: asking Gaius to repeat it more slowly, or leading him in to see the queen and then completely butchering it all when he tried to make the correct presentation. Truth be told, he was a fairly simple minded man and not much of a butler at all, but one of the royal guardsmen who's taken an arrow in the knee during a hunting accident.
Luckily for him, Queen Chello had stepped into the hall as Gaius had been speaking and was standing behind the door-guard, having already heard the introduction. She seemed to sense the guard's distress, even though she couldn't see his face and she spoke up with a graceful tone, relieving the man of his momentary crisis and allowing him to fade into the background.
"Forgive me for not meeting you at the manor gates, Lord Castilian ," She said and gave a serene curtsy, "I am Queen Chello Leigh Christallo, Wife to my lord and king, Azlyn of Elon, and daughter of Lynol Leigh, Duke of Arkhaer in the Southern Tribes of Surveak." Through she'd only lived in the north four years now, she's been careful to research the histories and noble families of the surrounding kingdoms. "It is a great honor to welcome such an esteemed dignitary and war hero of the Crown Republic of Juturna."
Through she was only twenty six, Chello was already showing the faint age lines and weariness of a woman in her thirties. Tall and very thin, she had long hands and a tall back with a rather flat chest. Her milk pale skin, blue eyes and blond hair were unusual for those living along the southern coast and served to emphasize the fact that she was a foreigner far more than her accent, which was actually quite slight. She had on a sunrise-pick gown and a green bodice that matched the ribbon holding back her wispy hair. Despite her height, she looked as though a moderately strong wind would knock her over.
"Accommodations have been made for you. Please take your time refreshing yourself from your journey. If you would join me for dinner this evening, we can begin our trade discussions afterwards."
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Post by psychopathickids on Oct 17, 2014 22:15:28 GMT
Gaius himself looked little like his countrymen, hair somewhere between auburn and blonde in shade though having long since begun to run grey in patches with age, fair of skin, blue of eye, strong of jaw and possessed of a palpably easy going nature despite the horrors he had witnessed and, in his time, inflicted upon those he found deserving, and occasionally those who simply had the misfortune of getting in the way of his plans and once seemingly ceaseless ambition. He eschewed cereal grains, wine, cheese and the smoked red meats which comprised the majority of the diet of the average human living upon the Southern Shores, and when he did on rare occasion eat something that had recently been alive and kicking preferred fish and sea food eaten raw or lightly seared in olive oil depending on the quality and freshness of the catch, tending to stick to fresh well water flavored with citrus squeezing to quench his thirst, mixed greens which he often as not foraged for himself, and fruits of all shapes, sizes, colors and flavors, though he preferred plumbs, pomegranates and the occasional handful of olives or tree nuts, oft' remarking upon the numerous and life changing positive effects such a diet exerted upon the body of the human animal to any who might find themselves stuck in a position which forced them to listen to him.
He ran daily after breakfast, covering ten miles a day for a week, then twelve, then fifteen, and then eighteen before undergoing his once monthly twenty six mile marathon before stopping for lunch, then starting over again the next month as was customary practice for foot couriers in the Republic, an occupation well below his own rank and title though one which held a traditional exercise regimen he considered to be an infinitely beneficial and highly advisable practice for all healthy adults, allowing the runner time to recover from the longest treks without losing the stamina and discipline needed to exert oneself to such an extent, and swam at least an hour a day against the tide, explaining to those who asked about the peculiar practice that, “he liked to let the waves crash over him, let go and allow the ocean to determine his fate,” and to this day he’d always made his way back to shore, though he had accrued close calls beyond count in the process, leaving him in remarkably good shape for his age, or for any living human for that matter, which only added to the considerable presence his booming voice and height of six feet and two inches, quite tall among the people of the Southern Shores, afforded him.
Always meticulously groomed, well kempt and impeccably clean, Gaius shunned facial hair --, hair of any kind which didn’t grow from the head, eyelashes or eyebrows as it were, and even then preferred to keep such growth trimmed short and expertly managed as was common practice among swimmers and divers along the Southern Shores, and found keeping finger nails which extended the least bit beyond the fingertip a disgusting practice, having exclaimed something along the lines of, “Dirt gets trapped there. And filth. And mayonnaise,” to one random manservant or another in front of company more than once on the rare occasion one of his own people allowed themselves to forget his peculiarities regarding cleanliness and personal hygiene, though it was rarely something he brought up in another’s house, let alone that of a foreign monarch while on a business trip on behalf of the Republic. He may be a tad obsessive with regards to personal upkeep and tidiness, but was well aware of it and the rather offended manner with which one might take his remarks on the subject, and had learned long ago to keep them to himself --, with exception of those directly under his command who had little choice in the matter, of course.
Garbed in a pair of navy blue trousers worn tucked into knee high riding boots somewhere between olive green and khaki in shade and fastened with a chord of sea grey string at the waist, a sleeveless navy blue jerkin worn over a sea grey doublet, and a sea foam green traveling cloak hood down and fastened below the neck with a chord of string similar in make and color to that which held up his trousers as opposed to the fringed robes more traditional of Lucentan aristocracy, Gaius looked even less the Juturnan nobleman then usual, though it wasn’t exactly to be unexpected of him, as it were; robes offered little in protection from the elements and chill of travel by sea, and even during the Summer the waters of the Sunset Sea could become rather chilly on occasion. In addition, he had never been the type to sit by idly as the men in his employ worked at their respective tasks, preferring to join in rather than watch, something quite difficult to attempt in draped toga and tunic. Regardless, if the cloth bag strewn over the right shoulder of his manservant was any indication, it was somewhat unlikely that he wouldn’t be changing into something more formal of his station before getting down to business.
With a low bow, expertly practiced and befitting of addressing a monarch, Gaius attended his host. “You honor me your Grace, though I fear rumors of my heroics upon the field of battle have been greatly exaggerated. I thank you for your offer of hospitality, and it would be my heartfelt pleasure to dine with you before addressing the nature of my visit,” as it were, his, “heroics,” upon the field of battle had saved the lives of hundreds of priests of the Seven, attendants, and desperate worshipers who had taken refuge in the Temple of Juturna fearful of what the Survaek held in store for, “heathens,” such as themselves --, for all of one day. A lone imperial scout mounted atop war bull happened to notice their flight but hours after escaping the by then burning ruin of Juturnapolis and, signaling to his unit by war horn, ran them down to the last man, woman and child. No doubt he had offered them terms of surrender, or so the Survaek officials had claimed after the fact, but clearly his terms were not well received by the faithful, and in the end all his actions had earned him was thirty nine lashes, the scars from which still formed a patchwork of brutality upon his back, a daily reminder of the cost of resistance. Gaius would follow her attendants to the quarters provided him to change, wash, and prepare for dinner should Queen Chello have no further need of him at present.
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Post by missmilkmaid on Oct 18, 2014 5:35:09 GMT
The guests rooms at Christallo Manner were neither large nor luxurious, but were neat and not without comfort. Thick, woven rugs covered the swept stone floors and the wooden bed had fresh, clean bedding and goose down pillows. There was a small side room for Gaius's servant and a bath with heated water was drawn up. Besides the bathtub and the bed, the only other furnishings were a washstand below the window and a small writing desk, with a chair, writing equipment and a few small books. The shutters on the widow were open and a dish of dried lavender on the seal sweetened the breeze blowing through. The soft clucks of chickens could be heard, as they pecked at the ground below and further away were the happy cries of a small child and occasional scolding of her nurse. "Princess stop jumping in the mud-puddles. Eloise! What's that in your mouth!?"
Overall, while simple and a little rustic, Christallo Manner had a pleasant, peaceful atmosphere to it, with none of the hubbub and hurry of larger castles. It seemed like the perfect place for long summer vacations by the sea, a place to be carefree, healthy and relaxed. Gaius had plenty of time to enjoy his bath and the view from his window, before a servant knocked quietly on his door to inform that dinner would be served in a few minutes.
The longhall was a little smokey and dim, with few windows and a high ceiling biuld on blacked cedar beams. Two dogs, too old for hunts slept by the fire, which was kept low in summer time, and the antlered chandelier held several waxy candles. The table was a long polished slab of heavy oaken wood, which appear to have decades if not centuries worth of scuff, scratches and ware upon it. In this setting however, the damage served to give character more than tarnish and it was at least plenty clean. A wooden bowl of oranges and another of mixed almonds and walnuts were set on the table, as well as two well laid place setting of polished wood. The smell of food was drifting in through one of the back doors, but the dinner hadn't been brought out yet.
Chello stood and curtsied, as Gaius entered. "Welcome to my King's table, Lord Castilian," she said, "Please take a seat. Would you care for some wine?" She motioned to a servant who stepped forward with a heavy wineskin.
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Post by missmilkmaid on Dec 30, 2014 22:05:24 GMT
****
Belgire Silverstar road to Makris Neophytos with an armed escort. Not for fear of the Jurturans, or as a sign of aggression, but for protection along the western roads. It was dangerous times and very little had been heard from Jurturna in the last couple of years. Silverstar wasn't sure what to expect on the roads these days.
Leaving all but a few of his men at an inn with the horses, Belgire presented himself at the front gate. Dressed in fine clothes of white and blue and warring his usual feathered hat, lined cloak and rapier.
"Good evening, I am Belgire Silverstar Esquire. I am here as an ambassador on behalf of King Azlyn and Queen Chello Christallo and would like to speak with Her Royal Highness The Mighty Queen Kallista Eudokia of House Makris."
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