by Knight Errant » Fri Mar 05, 2010 2:52 pm
Servants escort everyone (including Trey after he is brought up to speed) to a large pair of double doors flanked by guards. Oddly, what seems to be freshly carved symbols cover the frame of the large set of doors, the script unreadable, but strangely familiar to anyone from Watchwood.
Meanwhile, the servant stares at Ginny blankly. "This is the King's castle, in the King's city, in the King's Kingdom. You will respect his authority, your feelings do not enter into the situation. Now... follow me."
He leads her to the same set of doors! Which open to reveal a vast dining hall! A large table is full of all kinds of sumptuous foods. There are grilled fish, roasted meat of duck, lamb, and ox. Venison steaks sit in heaps, while vegetables and salads prepared many different ways add dashes of color to the crispy golden brown haunches of meat. At the head of the table, the King sits, waiting for them. Arleigh IX is a powerfully built man, but so has it been with most of his line. His hair shows sings of silvering, decrying his age. A scar runs past one eye, one from an old conflict. The kings of Watchwood have never been ones to sit back and relax. In fact the right to succession to the throne is another way the province stands out. Instead of the normal practice of firstborn sons, if there is more than one male heir of the bloodline occasionally the right of succession can be won by the younger brother if he defeats the older in a duel. The winner taking the name Arleigh once he comes of age. So it was with the ninth. His older brother Samwell going into self exile upon defeat.
At his side, the princess Christina sits timidly. The princess's figure is well into womanhood, her beauty the talk of the kingdom. Her silky violet hair cascades down to her bewitching butt. That along with her red eyes would invite all kinds of speculation to her lineage, if the fact of her mother the queen dieing in childbirth wasnt so well known. She wears a simple blue silk dress, tailored to fit her by the king's own silkweavers. Her softness and beauty contrast sharply with the rugged features of the king, who forsakes silks and velvets for leather and chainmail, his simple golden crown and purple robe being the only symbols of office... well that and his sword. The longsword is plain at the hilt, and sheathed it seems simple enough. But it is said that with the throne, the sword of Arleigh the Red Handed passes as well, the blade permanently stained crimson red from the thousands the general of the New Empire had slain in battle.
Arleigh IX looks up as the doors open. "Ah... your here. Welcome." He gestures at the table. "Be seated if it suits you."
O Muse!
Sing in me, and through me tell the story
Of that man skilled in all the ways of contending,
A wanderer, harried for years on end...
Click the eggs... feed the dragons.