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@King Milorian lazily contemplated the benefits and risks that some would say does not fit his persona. He can feel the waves of complacency wash over him in a steady rhythm. It has been difficult to not float away on the calming waters; tonight, it is no different. Looking out the window of his study, he squinted in an attempt to see the edges of the Free Marches, but failed for a few reasons: it's too far, and he's blind. Sitting on the throne as King was not a regrettable choice, it has led to a few things for the people, and those things are enough to soothe his yearning for home. Soon enough, that home will not exist. The decision may have felt abrupt to those outside his circle, maybe even a little insulting considering how long he has been named King. He should care about such opinions - he should care - because it is the people's opinion that shapes his rule. Absconding his family from this land is almost like a slap in the face. The Mythal House is an old one and has inhabited this place for some time. Why leave now? Some may think. What's the reason? Others will wonder. The elf has all the answers, yet none of them truly matter. There is no going back; he will see that his family is safely removed from Ursa Madeum, a place they will never have to see again. At last, he thinks to himself, there will be some peace to this uneasiness. Primera has provided passage to her lands, where she has blessed his family with an opportunity to live. Their leaving meant his staying. He can't just give the crown back, not that it meant much considering the promises they had all made that day of his crowning—a figure, nothing more. Milorian does not have the pleasure of leaving everything behind, even though he wouldn't mind doing so right now. His siblings are preparing for the departure, and his Seekers will take care of whatever is left once they're all gone. Sighing, he rubs the bridge of his nose - so much work needs to be done in a matter of days. He can't help but feel some way about the situation; change is a hurdle many can't jump over. A knock on the door shook him back to reality. Blinking, he curved his attention towards the door before allowing the guard to enter. A visitor at this hour? It was late, that much he knew, too late for company as far as he is concerned. When told who it was, he nodded in a gesture to allow their company to come forth. Alexandros Kholin, Lyrei's paramour ... no, her husband. Saying paramour would imply something illicit, and he would not insult the couple. It has only been a month or so since Lyrei had made her home in the Kholin Reach; Alexandros coming here must mean business. Whatever that business is, the elf waits for his company to come forth and state his explanations for visiting at such a late hour.
Welcome to King Milorian’s coronation masquerade ball! OOC: Things to Note: A Council of Dryads from the Free Marches are holding a meeting in the garden to discuss the current state of nature of Ursa Madeum. They are open to inquiries and are partial to acorns. The Lounge has been occupied by a group of dwarves who are far into their cups for the night. They are holding an arm-wrestling competition; the winner gets a prize. Participants: Open How-to: Dice Rolling Thread - Look at the result for the D2. If a 1 is rolled, you won! If a 2 is rolled, then you lose that round. There will be 3 rounds per-participant. You need a 2/3 win to get the prize. A mourning fairy has taken advantage of the famous festivities. Its victims experience sudden feelings of grief, and if the fairy is not caught, the grief can turn one mad. Catch the fairy and receive a reward. A witch is dropping elemental rune stones around the castle! These stones can be used to enchant weapons, armor, or yourself; only two stones per participant, please. Stones: wind, water, fire, earth Layout: Red is off limits; Green is open Milorian felt extremely uncomfortable; Milorian looked extremely uncomfortable. He wasn't exactly sure what his attitude should be towards the gathered individuals, and it left him feeling adrift among the large crowd. To his right was Primera all dazzling in her glamour and dress; to his left was an emptiness he felt right down to his very core. Birdy was not there to accompany him during this rather momentous - strange - moment in their lives. When he was made King, she was made his Queen; he hates to think what her absence will cause. On the other hand, he was pleased that she was hidden somewhere, safe and comfortable. He was not going to burden her with superficial gestures that could risk her comfort and health. Comfortably married for a short time, the two had maintained a sense of privacy from the moment they took vows in silence. It worried him that there may be a demand they marry in front of the entirety of Ursa Madeum, just to ensure that neither were manipulating their position and power by lying to their fellow citizens. The elf prayed they'd leave Birdy alone. At least he can speak of his wife; there had been a few compliments towards his attire. Birdy, Primera, and Odelia had ambushed him with options of different suits that would fit his newly acquired position, though he doesn't know why. Whatever opinion he had about the attire was quickly swept aside by one of the women. It took them four days to decide on a simple black suit void of any embellishments - four. days. When it was time for the masquerade, they threw a cape over his right shoulder that carried the Mythal wolf and pinned the fabric with a variety of golden chains that now hung from his shoulder. He hated it, but he had no opinion. Primera was rude enough to point out he was blind, so it didn't matter what he thought since he can't see. "You're a rather quiet host, my King." Primera dragged the sour-faced elf to the dance floor that was overly crowded with excitable company. He had to right himself when she manipulated him to hold her irresponsibly close, but the lack of space on the dance floor made it impossible to be appropriate. Without much choice, he was forced into a quickstep that shook a few laughs from his dry lungs and drew a smile across his usually tight features. "There you are! Such a handsome King should smile, it'll make the ladies weak." Milo rolled his sapphire eyes, not sure if he should feel complimented or not. He didn't care if the people should find him handsome or not, what mattered was what they thought of his behavior and his actions. Though he understood the small spread of truth behind her evaluation; a kind and thoughtful individual on the throne could sway the uneasiest of hearts, as first impressions do matter. Being an elf sitting on a somewhat changeable throne, a smile and some kindness could do him some good. "I suppose I can smile every now and then," he said begrudgingly. The two made it out alive and took refuge on the outskirts of the dancing crowd. Unable to hide it, there were flecks of pride in his blind gaze as he "watched" the elves of his land mingle with the rest of the crowd. The normality of the sight was endearing, he never really expected such a thing to happen yet always yearned for it. Such an amazing view was exemplified by the laughter, the teasing, and the general conversation coming from differing individuals. Even if it's just for now, even if it's just for show, he can take these small triumphs and covet them when needed. Primera looked up at the elf who was clearly lost in the moment. Teasingly, she elbowed the gentleman, knocking him down back to earth. "You are a regal sort, you know. Seeing you as you are, in all your kingly glory, it's a marvel." "You keep feeding me these compliments, and I'll become fat on pride." "Oh? Is that why your belt is cinched extra tight?" The Grand Kommadant reached down and pulled at his elaborate belt all shiny in gold and jewels. Aghast, the elf slapped her hand away - a handsy woman! "I beg your pardon, my lady, but it's not very ... lady-like to just grab at a man's belt." "I beg your pardon my King, but that all depends on the gentleman." They were in a public place with eyes already drawn to their playfulness, the last thing he needs is this pompous woman speaking far too candidly for her own good. Damn her! He could see a few individuals hiding their smiles behind sips of wine and the flush of fans; they were going to talk, and it's all her fault. He certainly did not help the situation by laughing behind his gloved hand, the terrible attempt only exasperated the crude comment. The masquerade was to introduce him to the rest of society and open the doors for conversation. He did not want to talk politics, he barely wanted to acknowledge his newly acquired title, but he understood that parties as these are opportunities to get your foot in the door. With the party currently gliding towards its peak, Milorian has spoken to many people who have all welcomed him and nothing more. He was grateful that, at least for a moment, his people can enjoy a single night of celebration without any underhandedness. "I hate you," he finally said. He couldn't see it, but he certainly could tell that she was beaming. Which she was, from ear to ear, her smile reached; opal hues glittered and glowed with amusement behind the elaborate mask she wore.
The elf folded her covered arms across her lightly protected chest; her stance is thoughtful as her audience awaits her demands. The trolls have been reliable with their information, keeping their promise to answer questions when asked, and being honest - as honest as a troll can be. With a pinch of salt, she rolls this trolls honest words around, wondering how far she is willing to risk her safety and those that had followed her. Somewhere within the depths of the Emerald Graves, a witch has made her home. Not bound by the law of any kind, the treacherous creature has begun stealing items from nearby towns and abused anyone that comes near her. It's a bit unusual considering that witches aren't known for being so forward, though times have changed and what she knows means very little. What matters is the issue is taken care of and fast; in a few days her brother will be leaving to attend a meeting that will decide how Ursa Madeum turns. Ly will not be set aside, not anymore. Milorian can't keep her from the world, not when he can't depend on the rest of his siblings. Wyne and Ronan have already ruined their relationship with Milo, too much hate and pain and revenge have kept the brothers at arm's length with the Lord of their House. Lyrei has yelled at the men, treating them like the children they are, trying to get them to see the reason of some kind. It's been futile, which is why she is here, speaking with a troll about a witch, and trying to decide if she's going to risk her timid freedom or go back home. 'So, what are you going to do?' Lyrei smiled at the voice in her head; Austere has been her accomplice in the night. Without him, she would not have been able to sneak in and out of her home. "Sounds like the Tombs are being infiltrated. It looks like I'm going to have to go underground." 'Be safe and quick.' "Of course!" The woman waves her small gathering over and begins to outline her plan to them. These men and women were not part of the Seeker order, but their abilities are none to frown upon, and their loyalty thus far has been unshakable. Time isn't on their side, they will have to be quick to either dispose of this witch or begin moving her out of the Free Marches, and it needs to be done before the sun hits the horizon.
@King She stayed with the carriage, told to keep it company and for her to stay out of trouble; just enough leash for her to hang herself if she dared to go against her given instructions. It had taken days of begging to be allowed outside her gilded cage, but torturing her brother and being a victim to his storminess was utterly worth it. He folded and allowed her to accompany him to the steps of the meeting, just enough space to let her wander about without getting into too much trouble or be much of a burden. Lyrei lifted her nose to the sky, drawing in a large breath of humid air that made her lungs feel heavy. She couldn't hate on her brother, not when he has been the reason the Mythal House has been quietly prosperous; he has shown that his actions are always thoughtfully put in place, even if a few of those actions are a bit of a nuisance. He had kept his sister out of the spotlight, saying he doesn't need her to distract the outside world with her antics or worry that she will become a victim to some dastardly man looking to take advantage. How little he knew, she thought while plucking at an errant strand of golden hair. Milorian would be one foot in the grave if he knew that his sister had done her own work to keep her home in its place. She has chased witches deep into the Emerald Graves and argued with trolls and other behemoths that traverse her homeland; on top of such adventures, she has been gifted a weapon that makes her sworn to oaths and immense power. Thankfully, if he ever finds out that she is a masked vigilante, he will not take away her newfound freedoms, no matter how much it would ease him to do so. Lyrei won't be shelved, treated like some precious gem that must sit behind a glass case to only be admired for the rest of its days. "Miss, can you please get back in the carriage." Her wondering was interrupted by Delaney, a Seeker who has kept her post near the window the entire time. Amber hues evaluated the woman dressed in her noble attire, her eyes fixed forward and her lips drawn in a rather sloppy grin. Lyrei hated how this woman looked so fashionably strong and determined, not at all having to worry about using her airs of femininity (if she had any) to grasp someone's attention. "I'm just hanging out the window," she retorted. Crimson covered arms were folded on the edge of the window with her chin resting atop her layered hands. Red roses freckle her golden hair, a wonderfully terrible contrast that just caught the eye. "And that's enough to cause trouble." Delaney tapped the elf on the nose, causing it to wrinkle in response to the playful gesture. "I thought you liked trouble?" Lyrei's red painted lips spread in a wide knowing smile. The two women divulge into small talk, their minor laughter rising and falling between them.