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Found 7 results

  1. supernal


    With their fixation on funneling improved technology and infrastructure into the islands, Singlance was undoubtedly onto something. It helped that they were onto the same thing that Ursa Madeum was on during Decamron's reign, when their tentative alliance with the mainland allowed them to lay hands on the manifold gifts of Empire, before that brief but painful dark age that set them all back generations and surrounded them in the smoldering ruins of their shattered culture. And now they were here again, on the very cusp of transcendence into a greater collective being. Ampelos checked his pocket watch. His voyage from Gold Harbor to Misral was into its tenth hour; they set sail in the bleak, gray morning and could see Misral's jagged edge in the light of a mature afternoon. He made his way off the deck and into the ship's interior, to his cabin, to put away the few belongings he brought with him and prepare to debark. The boat rocked when it ground itself ashore and Ampelos betrayed his competence by swaying with the motion, letting it carry him out, then up, then over. Between Misral and Thraece as candidates for a second internal faux-ton relay, MIsral was the obvious choice. Thraece was riddled with pirates – you jam enough armed, drunken, often desperate men and women together and you learn to expect certain things to come out on the other side of the equation. Misral, on the other hand, was brimming over with mineral resources, their metalworking industry was non pareil, and, most importantly of all, it was home to House Tankred. He could see the future standing on the shoulders of that family. The Biazo vineyard was already bringing in some disposable income. He used a portion of this to rent himself a horse and rode it hard towards, but not into, the Tankred estate.
  2. The Dalis. Migrants from across the sea, stubborn in their adherence to their native land's traditions, skilled martial artists, textile producers, and cash crop farmers. A relatively new house; two centuries was barely enough time to root oneself in a new land, yet these Rosinderites had managed quite well, while remaining distinct from the Ursa Madeans. From what rumors she could gather, they were to be allied to the Mythals through marriage soon. Rozharon wondered if she would like to be invited. She did not have a natural appreciation for aesthetics, having to make a deliberate effort towards mortal perceptions of beauty when creating or forming things. Still, it would be an opportunity to watch both houses mingle in a relatively non-hostile environment. The Dalis' strange physical attributes piqued her interest, though she had never met a single one of their members in person. Perhaps this would be the opportunity to get herself an invitation and satisfy that curiosity. Her visits to the nobility were well overdue at this point, for that matter. Rozharon made her way towards the gates of the Dali manor. She wore her cloak, as usual, covering her wings, though this time her dress was shorter, simpler, more practical. Gone were the overlong sleeves that hid her hands and the dragging hem. There seemed to be less need for that here. "Gʀᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢs. I ᴡɪsʜ ᴛᴏ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ ᴡɪᴛʜ Lᴀᴅʏ Hᴀʟɪsᴇʀᴀ." @supernal
  3. LikelyMissFortune

    A Room with a Weave.

    ~Goldcourt Manor, Andelusia~ Prescot Goldcourt was wealthy, powerful and an absolute scoundrel, and, he knew it. He had lived through the rise and fall of a mad King, and had done his duty with a cold, decisiveness-- and still was prone to be described as one of the most jovial people. Thus, today, it was with an air of suspicion that Evienne sat beside her Father at the breakfast table- the former contentedly sipping on a cup of coffee, annoyingly persistent smile on his bearded face. A conspiracy is afoot. “Good morning, Papa,” Evienne could only oblige sweetly; determined not let her mood be ruined, she had a good session this morning, sparring against her Father’s personal guards. “I find you in good spirit today?” and she serving herself a bowl of thick, creamy chocolate- a questioning glance that was met with a stubborn wall of mirth. What’s in store for the day, then. “Ofcourse, ofcourse,” His voice was light, but his eyes twinkled as he appraised Evienne’s attire of the day, the way a smith would appraise the quality of a sword. The smile on his face grew ever wider, an eyebrow cocked in surprise. “Finalized the ratios have you? The cloth glitters, you’ve outdone yourself this morning.” Compliments were not to be taken lightly, especially one that was delivered from him with surprising earnestness. Evienne had been working on making a lighter, airier weave of cloth-of-gold for the better part of two months, and for the past two months her Father hadn’t missed a beat- picking up on problems and changes with unusual perceptiveness. Today, she had chosen to wear the dress she had weave she had declared perfect- the cloth was equal parts soft and pliable, like muslin and silk- but had been inlaid with golden threads so fine it almost made the cloth diaphanous. It rippled with her every movement- the gold leant the muslin structure it would otherwise have lacked. Fashioned into the elven designs, she currently so favored- the gown embodied both femininity and ferocity. Today, she had chosen to weave golden flowers into her hair, pulled neatly into a braided rope. “The secret was in a diagonal weave, we were looking at the problem wrong.” She admitted lightly, pride blooming warmly in her chest, she motioned to the young maidservant standing patiently behind her chair. “Leizhen, of course, helped me out a great deal- I’d be lost without her.” Which was true- there was no need for Evienne to be the taking the credit. “Yes, very well.” Prescot spared the girl a glance- to which she replied with sharp, deep curtsy. “The result is splendid, you’ll make more from the same cloth? You’ll have to make me a new kerchief with it.” “As you wish, Papa.” The accompanying silence was punctuated only by the scraping of utensils and the sounds of activities from the courtyard. The guards had moved on from wrestling it seemed, as the clang of dueling sword faintly carried through from the open windows. There was a tension between her and her Father- getting drawn out by the second, it diminished her appetite, and she desperately tried to not squirm under the growing unease. “I’m expecting you to entertain a guest today,” Prescot declared, skewering Evienne with his calculating blue gaze- she willed herself not to flinch. There it was. “I assume you’ve heard of a certain Mr. Quinton Swan?” The name was familiar, certainly- she’s head his name before. Evienne wasn’t quite sure where or how, though. “I’d be delighted to receive Mr. Swan of…” She trailed, hoping her Father to fill in the gaps. “ He’s looking to invest,” His words were mild, conversational- but his gaze was still locked onto hers, was there, perhaps a sliver of disappointment in them? Or was it just amusement? Either way, her Father had correctly deduced the motive behind her sudden interest in dress making. She wasn’t surprised at that, she had assumed he’d simply not comment on- or acknowledge it all until she approached him with investors, resources and patrons in hand. The help was, honestly, a welcome relieve. Evienne couldn’t help but positively beam at this revelation- her hand grasping her Father’s in a fervent clasp. “Papa, I would be delighted to entertain Mr. Swan- of course!” It was too perfect- this day was revealing itself to be a good one, indeed. Prescot coughed, and Evienne released his hand, “Expect him soon, I invited him right after breakfast.” The lord rose from the table- and Evienne did so as well, dipping into a respectful curtsy. “I’ll join you for dinner, I doubt my indisposition will keep me from that.” The parting shot dripped with good natured sarcasm, and Evienne laughed. “Leizhen!” She called, sitting down to finish up her sweet drink- at leisure. “Gather the new Blue gown- and the White one, make them presentable in case it needs to be displayed.” It occurred to her, that perhaps she should get to know more about this Mr. Swan- information on certain delicate details such as a preferences for tea and cakes were absolutely indispensable. But, it was already a quarter past 10 O’clock, and this was a matter requiring certain delicacy- It was best to show herself off as honestly, and without pomp as she could. So, Evienne took her sweet time in finishing her breakfast- making sure to appear calm and collected. “Get the loom into the Drawing room as well, Leizhen.”
  4. LikelyMissFortune

    Gilded Messenger.

    To the Owl I Hope Bears Good News. 25th of November 597 Dear Sir, I regret to inform you that certain businesses have forced me from Andelusia to Hell’s Gate for a short period of time. Fret not, I shall be back soon, and we shall have these discussions in a more secure environment. Letters, I find have a habit of ending up in the wrong hands far too often for my liking. The servant I’ve sent this letter with can be trusted; her name is Leizhen, I’ve instructed that she deliver these directly to your hands. I apologize for any inconveniences caused. Sir, have you, by chance read this article written by a reporter: Aurelia Sunchaser? Now, I’m of the opinion any publicity is good publicity- but it vexes me that these Uldwars see themselves as infallible. It’s those god awful stays that Lady Uldwar insists everyone wear that’s causing her mind to warp so much. As for Sunchaser, I am absolutely sure she's somehow involved with them- it's a petty thing, I shall write of it no more! Sir, If am not wrong, we share the same beliefs towards this subject: revolutions, upheavals and coups cause changes in everything- style is just one of those things. As such, I believe it’s time for us to work on the finer points of our understandings, namely- I am willing (as are the Goldcourts and my Dali cousins) to help you with societal and financial matters, be it trade or a policy of non aggression, we are keen. For there’s so much to gain, little to lose- so much has been lost already. Lady Cassandra has to be dealt with as soon as possible, but this is a delicate issue that has to be dealt with carefully. I’ve instructed Leizhen to impose upon your hospitality ‘till she receives a reply missive. I do hope your affairs go well, Lord Dermont. We Goldcourts wish you all the best. My Father informs me that Lady Halisera Dali even looks favorably upon such an alliance; should we choose to solidify it. Send my regards to the murder, as well as your dear Sister. Living by the sword, dying by the pen. Not a Shrinking Violet. P.S. I’ve included a few sketches I believe would please your dear sister, if you would bring her to a Mrs. Sedley’s Shop in Andelusia she would be attended to well! A fair discount shall be produced if you show the proprietress the sketches. But, for the love of God, don’t let the woman give you any of her original designs.
  5. supernal

    A rose grows in concrete [dali]

    Purpose The unifying theme of this thread is a celebration – specifically a prenuptial bash to celebrate the upcoming arranged marriage between the niece (Saskia - 14) of Lady Northtrail Dali and the nephew (Anson - 13) of Lord Mythal, which will see House Dali and House Mythal allied through matrimony. Since the aim of the thread is to reach the post count needed to establish House Dali as a permanent asset, I'm aiming to cut this off as close to the 15-post count as possible. Expect posts to be more about explaining / detailing the setting and character temperaments, and setting up future interactions, rather than having detailed interactions in this thread. Venue The ground floor of the Dali estate. The floor plan can also be found in the Dali estate thread. The party begins, and will be concentrated in, the dining room, which will have a spread of gourmet dinner, desert items, wines and luxurious liquors. Inclusive of the ground floor guests can also wander the rest of the estate, which includes: hunting grounds, a garden with a hedge maze, and outside art gallery with statues and other pieces, and nature walk trails through a bordering forest. OOC
  6. Ampelos Spiderwalker was a progeny of a union between the Spydervalley bloodline and the Wyrmwalker bloodline. As much as could be explained by Nature, by the gifts of his inheritance and the hybrid vigor which came of blending genetic disparities, Ampelos comfortably claimed an unflappable demeanor, as well as an unquenchable appetite for the outer edges of experience. This suited him to many lines of professional work. What Ampelos could be said to lack most in were focus and ambition. Again, the argument could be successfully made that though he 'lacked' in comparison to the more driven or determined, or obsessive as he would call them, there was enough of both written into the marrow of his bone and the color of his blood to lead him to a life of relative success. And so it had. Although it had been a full season since his family bonded research grant had gone dry, he had a food to eat and a place to sleep by way of his alumni ties to the Transmutation guild; by Ampelos's account, that put him ahead of the bottom line by several long strides. When he rolled out of the simple straw mat on the floor, in a room with about a half dozen others, it was without fear of having been robbed or waking up to an ambush. Life was pretty sweet all right. And life was about to get sweeter, because it came to him in a dream – "it" being the notion which would have the main branch of the Dali family quivering to drop sacks and bundles of money all over him. Ampelos rubbed his hands in anticipation as he walked an automatic path which led him to the bursar's office. "I'd like to take out a small loan."
  7. Grubbistch

    The concrete breaks [dali]

    These were the times which Lord Oscar Uldwar would have preferred to be locked in mortal combat with someone intent on killing him than to attend a wedding. Truth be told, it was very likely most of the attendants at this meeting wanted to kill him anyway. "Darling, you must not look so nervous, its going to be okay." While on the boat which was transporting them to the Manor housing the celebration, Lord Uldwar gently pressed his forehead into the top of his wife's head. The past was a treacherous thing, one which threatened to tear apart everything in his life that he has worked for. Only when he was able to lose himself in the work of preparing the defenses for a siege, or planning the next big assault against his foes did he truly feel comforted. Now the wars were over, the only enemies now were the ones that had every right to hate him for what he did, for which side he took in the civil war. Peace was making him restless, anxious like an animal in a cage, awaiting the wrath of the survivors of those it hunted to come bearing down upon it in full. Now he needed to learn how to keep his mind occupied in more constructive ways, something more positive than just destroying the lives of others. "This is a mistake, Cassandra, I just know it. We shouldn't be here, we should just stay in Misral with our family and our people." Part of him genuinely wanted to cry, to lament that he was being dragged into this event, to face people he would never dream he would see again. It was one of the major reasons they relocated from Corinth, for a new start without their enemies looking to destroy them at every turn. To know that he was returning back to this place, to face the same people he had ran away from, it tasted worse than poison in his mouth. At that moment Lady Cassandra Uldwar said something to her husband that touched him deeply, and showed him why it was she that he chose as his wife to love and to be with for all time. "Time is taking it's toll on us, my love. Don't wait until your deathbed to reconcile with those you've hurt, it won't mean as much as it would if you asked for forgiveness now, in the present." She was right, by the gods she was right. Already crows feet were beginning to emerge on the corners of her eyes, try as she might to hide them with special salves and makeup. New wrinkles were appearing every day, on both of them, and they wouldn't just stop and reverse the damage they are already doing to their faces. Sooner or later, the time will come for them to pass on from this place, to somewhere he hoped, was far better and kinder than this world. History already would not be so forgiving of his actions in supporting the tyrant king, would they be doubly accusatory of him if he ran away from this problem all his life? Could he ever look himself in the mirror without seeing a coward? Such questions cut deeper than any blade, prompting him to relent to his wife's requests and join her on this diplomatic visit to the Lost House of Dali. "You should be the one who does the talking." He said, doing his best to keep his spirits up. "I feel as if my tongue has turned to cotton." With a loving smile, Cassandra kissed her nervous husband, helping to quiet his fears with her love while interlocking her fingers with his. They were both in their finest clothes of silk, beautiful clothes of red, black and gold. She looked so beautiful to him, as beautiful as the first day they met, even more so with all that they had gone through since their marriage. If there was anyone in the world he would follow into the gates of hell, it would be her, without a shadow of a doubt. "We'll deal with this together, my darling. Not as warriors, but as civilized people of peace and diplomacy. I know you have it within you, I believe in you." Those were high expectations, but Lord Uldwar was ready to meet them, for his wife's sake, at the very least. Holding each others hands in support, the high borne couple exited the boat and made their way for the estate. Walking through the front doors, they were announced by the herald and prepared for what hostilities may come.