LOCATION: The Grand Hall
TAGS:
Isla Draellix-Kobitana
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AT THE DOOR
While Vyrien Paskal the Officer had been rather punctual, and so too was the man, there was something to being fashionably late as he walked up to the grand edifice of stone after a solitary wander from the nearby settlement, for what was not the first time. It hadn't been all that long since he had settled on a place to call home, here on Lur, and so it was as-yet hardly lived in, sparsely decorated; more often than not he still found himself within the the walls of Draellix Castle, despite having spent much of the preceding month as a guest of the Lady of the Castle.
His visits were largely a continuation of their newly established routine, with fitness at its core, and provided company that was a breath of fresh air, plenty welcome and filled with discussions that resonated back to the years of his youth (though he was still relatively young) where his body and mind were challenged, years rife with growth. But today? Today held a different air as winter festivities tended to have, and it saw him arrive in something more formal than anyone in the Crusade had seen him in to date.
Including said Lady.
A brief glance back at the gate, where Sisters of Ashla stood guard, was the last thing before he was greeted by the house staff at the door.
"Two days in a row, Mister Paskal?" It was Emryc, one of the sons of the owner of Gorrino's largest tavern,
"Have to wonder why you bothered to leave."
A grin on the younger man's face pulled a tight smile onto Vyr's own - he wasn't going to dignify that with an actual response.
"Looking sharp, sir…" Emryc's twin, Edryc, cut in and shot his younger brother a look from the other side of the door that took the place of a sharp elbow that might've been driven into the other's side, before turning back to Vyr,
"...you must be here for the festivities."
Vyrien moved a hand to rest on the
kashira of his katana, affixed at the hip, and the tails and side of his overcoat slipped away, revealing the lacquered
saya. He affixed the two of them with an impassive, almost bored look. He had no interest in being detained by their antics for much longer; the thought of knocking them both with the aforementioned sheath most certainly crossed his mind.
"Right, then…" Edryc continued, stiffening,
"...in you go, sir."
He began to move through the door.
"Have a good time, sir! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Emryc piped up, with Edryc quickly following that up, derisively needling his brother about that list being small as Vyr moved further away, rubbing his face with one hand, then raking it through his hair, muttering one word under his breath:
"Idiots…"
IN THE ENTRANCE
After shedding the overcoat to hand it off to a coat checker and buttoning his suit jacket, Vyrien blew out a long breath, a hard sigh, only to be interrupted in this:
"Your weapon, sir?"
If a look could turn another to ice, it was the one the half-Arkanian gave the coat checker out of his periphery,
"You must be new here," he said, firmly and evenly, slipping the knot of his tie back up to his neck,
"the blade stays with me."
The young woman hesitated,
"Sir, I mean…" He turned to the girl, shifting his attention a little more to rest on her.
"...what I meant to say, is it's beautiful," she looked flustered,
"Atrisian design, isn't it?"
Vyr left a pause in the air.
"It is," he gave, peering at her, anew,
"You're the bladesmith's daughter, are you not?"
She nodded,
"Liene, sir."
"I intend to pay a visit to your father, Liene; it would be good to have such a craftsman among my acquaintances. Let him know to expect me…" he paused; there was no telling where the night would go,
"...sometime in the next few days."
After a few more moments and giving her his name, he gave himself a once-over in a nearby full-length mirror, and made his way into the ballroom.
AT THE PARTY
The ballroom was alive with conversation and movement, and when Vyrien entered he paused at the edge of the room, just beyond the threshold, to observe persons both unfamiliar and in varying degrees of familiarity making connections, drinking, taking their fill to sate their stomachs and some were even dancing to the music that filled the space - all so different from the
Winter Solstice on Eshan, which he had attended more than once in his formative years at the behest of his mother.
He had only seen the Grand Hall empty until now, having walked through it alone on some sleepless nights with only the sound of his footsteps for company. His glance across it was a slow scan with the methodical weight his gaze so often carried, taking in detail after detail, and writing the script to memory... but when that silver gaze came to settle on the Countess (who was handling the people around her with the same ease that she had when responding to him in exchanges of blows, footwork, and words), his eyes lingered on her radiance, and it was this that froze his feet to the floor for just a few moments longer than intended, whereas a storm could do no such thing…
…but it was
only a few moments, until it occurred to him that he was transfixed,
staring, and he broke his gaze away, which landed on an approaching individual carrying a tray of glasses of light amber liquor. Plucking one free as the tray was offered to him in passing, he put it to his nose to take in the scent, then drew in a small measure, savouring the liquid before swallowing. The glass lowered, such vivid thoughts taking up residence in his mind; he didn't need to look a second time, as the image of her was so clear, so fresh.
Perfection, it seemed, had many shades.
After ruminating on those very thoughts for a small handful of minutes, nursing the drink in hand, he thought it best to become mobile again, and began to walk the room at a slow pace, nabbing a morsel or two as trays passed, only stopping again to look at the trees, and how each of them had its own unique style and details. No two were decorated the same. Tasteful, yet warm, and welcoming.
That seemed to be a theme of much of the castle, come to think of it.
Kahlil Noble
