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<blockquote data-quote="havenstone" data-source="post: 4440912" data-attributes="member: 61094"><p><strong>Dancing with d’Aramants</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"><strong>MEANWHILE, DARREN HAS </strong>been scanning the room for Calla’s blonde hair and finally spots her sitting on the d’Aramant side of the hall, looking a bit forlorn. He hurries around the ballroom, getting increasingly unfriendly looks as he moves deeper into the d’Aramant section. When she sees him, her eyes light up. “Shipboy!” A couple of her cousins snicker, others glower; Darren ignores them and asks her to dance. To his relief, she’s clearly only a little more experienced than he is, and they whirl inelegantly but happily across the floor together for nearly an entire dance.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Then a hand descends on Darren’s shoulder, and he turns to see the angry blue eyes of <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4438128-post32.html" target="_blank">Avric</a> d’Aramant. “Who are you, and why are you dancing with my cousin?” </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“My name is Darren. Darren Adrecks,” replies Darren, startled. “I don’t mean to give offense to anyone -- certainly not a cousin of Calla’s. We were just dancing.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Does the General know about this boy?” Avric demands of Calla, ignoring Darren but not letting go of him. Calla looks suddenly miserable.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Atrix spies this budding disaster and dances Kay hurriedly but gracefully across the floor to tap Avric on the shoulder just as the music ends. “I’ve been looking for you, d’Aramant.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Avric spins around, his face contorting further. “d’Loriad -- what do you want?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Atrix arches his eyebrow and pauses for a strained moment, not wanting Avric to realize that he’s protecting Darren. He’s interrupted by a rattling tabor, signaling the beginning of the tirriesc -- one of the most challenging and fast-paced of dances, with flourishes that are at times almost acrobatic. “A challenge, Avric,” Atrix says cheerily. “A tirriesc. Can you manage it?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"><strong>THE FLOOR EMPTIES </strong>out, with only a handful of couples remaining -- including Atrix and Kay, Avric and Herena, and Carwyn and Alan. All are excellent dancers and begin well. In the midst of the first movement, however, Avric tries and fails to trip Atrix. In instant, unthinking retaliation, Atrix catches Avric’s foot with his own and sends him and Herena flying. A surge of laughter goes up from the crowd; the shamed couple limp off to the sidelines. </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Atrix shrugs apologetically to Kay, and then gets distracted again by the feeling of her in his arms as they whirl around and he lifts her into the air. “Thank you, cousin,” he says, a little hoarsely, when the tirriesc is over. Kay doesn’t say anything, just smiles shakily and walks off.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Moments later, the flushed and bruised Avric stalks up to Atrix. His voice cracks slightly with the effort of keeping it low. “Well, d’Loriad, when and where shall it be?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Atrix stares at the infuriated d’Aramant, and a thought occurs to him. “I’m busy tomorrow. Morning on the day after?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Your wedding day. How appropriate. Choice of weapons is yours. Make your peace with Ain.” As Avric turns on his heel and leaves, a thin-lipped Sarele takes his place.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Milady,” Atrix says, bowing.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“I see you maintain your interest in sundry other women. <em>Most</em> improper.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“It was only a dance, milady,” Atrix offers wearily.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Was it?” Sarele asks sharply. “I have heard rumors, Atrix d’Loriad, that your cousin Adgar has renewed his hopes of being my husband one day. Are you looking for ways to break our betrothal? Even if it were possible, I would not wish him.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Rumors?” says Atrix, a little shocked. “Vicious things. Not worth listening to. And there’s nothing wrong with Adgar, he’s a very nice man.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"><strong>ATRIX'S DEFENSE IS </strong>cut short by a trumpet blast, as <a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4371169-post20.html" target="_blank">the four Generals</a> enter the hall: Marcor d’Syrnon, Sarquin d’Loriad, and Athriam and Mercon d’Aramant. An enormous cheer goes up from the assembled crowd, along with a spontaneous chorus of <em>The Armies March to Arawai</em>. Sarele pushes Atrix away and moves stiffly back to the d’Nerein section of the hall.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Darren cranes his neck to see the generals, and sees that Mercon, the towering, sandy-bearded leader of the northern d’Aramants, is walking straight toward him. Indeed, Mercon appears to be looking straight at him, with an increasingly flinty expression on his face. It takes Darren a few seconds too long to realize why this is -- indeed, it doesn’t quite strike home until he feels Calla remove her hand from his.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“My guardian,” she breathes. “My uncle.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Darren averts his eyes as Mercon sweeps by, beckoning Calla curtly after him. “I’ll find you,” he promises almost inaudibly as she turns to follow. There’s no fear or sadness in his voice, and Calla shoots him a quick, fragile smile before vanishing into the d’Aramant crowd.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px"><strong>THROUGHOUT ALL THIS</strong>, Meeshak has been sustaining the light charms on the hall and taking weapons off various rowdies (many of them d’Aramant) at the portals. After several hours, he notices that he is being watched intensely by a stony-faced man with close-cropped white hair and beard, wearing priestly robes and the iron needle of the Sistechern Order. The strange priest walks over. “You make your prayers and charms in a familiar way.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“The god we serve is One,” Meeshak replies evasively. “He inspires many of us in familiar ways.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“I am Astacius of the Sistecherns. To what Order do you belong?”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“I do not belong to any Order,” Meeshak states, knowing that if Astacius knew the full truth, he’d do his best to have Meeshak captured and killed -- the typical Sistechern practice for apostates.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">“Hmmm.” Astacius frowns. “An Order-less priest is defiled in the sight of Ain.”</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Annoyed, Meeshak points upward to his contribution to the light. “We’ll let Ain be the judge of that. I don’t see your light here, brother?” </span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-size: 10px">Astacius scowls and stalks away. Meeshak wonders idly whether the severe-looking priest still has the blessing of Ain -- he used to know several particularly cruel Sistechern priests who managed to lose it and were reduced to mere torturers, with no power to their prayers.</span></p><p> </p><p><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'"><span style="font-family: 'Verdana'"><span style="font-size: 10px"><strong>AS THE BALL </strong>winds down, Carwyn turns from dancing to rumor-mongering -- one of her favorite skills -- and manages to cull a few rumors from the crowd. (<em>General Sarquin d’Loriad is growing weak and incompetent; Mercon d’Aramant is a better general than Athriam, but has accepted a lower role in exchange for a huge grant of land; the Merchant’s Brotherhood is raising the price of grain on a pretext; the dwarrow are leaving, migrating east</em>). Carwyn also notes a distraught-looking Sarele standing with her friend Herena and speaking to General Athriam, Herena’s father. She tries and fails to eavesdrop on the conversation, but she thinks she catches one familiar name: “Adgar.”</span></span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="havenstone, post: 4440912, member: 61094"] [b]Dancing with d’Aramants[/b] [SIZE=2][B]MEANWHILE, DARREN HAS [/B]been scanning the room for Calla’s blonde hair and finally spots her sitting on the d’Aramant side of the hall, looking a bit forlorn. He hurries around the ballroom, getting increasingly unfriendly looks as he moves deeper into the d’Aramant section. When she sees him, her eyes light up. “Shipboy!” A couple of her cousins snicker, others glower; Darren ignores them and asks her to dance. To his relief, she’s clearly only a little more experienced than he is, and they whirl inelegantly but happily across the floor together for nearly an entire dance.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]Then a hand descends on Darren’s shoulder, and he turns to see the angry blue eyes of [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4438128-post32.html"]Avric[/URL] d’Aramant. “Who are you, and why are you dancing with my cousin?” [/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“My name is Darren. Darren Adrecks,” replies Darren, startled. “I don’t mean to give offense to anyone -- certainly not a cousin of Calla’s. We were just dancing.”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“Does the General know about this boy?” Avric demands of Calla, ignoring Darren but not letting go of him. Calla looks suddenly miserable.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]Atrix spies this budding disaster and dances Kay hurriedly but gracefully across the floor to tap Avric on the shoulder just as the music ends. “I’ve been looking for you, d’Aramant.”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]Avric spins around, his face contorting further. “d’Loriad -- what do you want?”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]Atrix arches his eyebrow and pauses for a strained moment, not wanting Avric to realize that he’s protecting Darren. He’s interrupted by a rattling tabor, signaling the beginning of the tirriesc -- one of the most challenging and fast-paced of dances, with flourishes that are at times almost acrobatic. “A challenge, Avric,” Atrix says cheerily. “A tirriesc. Can you manage it?”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2][B]THE FLOOR EMPTIES [/B]out, with only a handful of couples remaining -- including Atrix and Kay, Avric and Herena, and Carwyn and Alan. All are excellent dancers and begin well. In the midst of the first movement, however, Avric tries and fails to trip Atrix. In instant, unthinking retaliation, Atrix catches Avric’s foot with his own and sends him and Herena flying. A surge of laughter goes up from the crowd; the shamed couple limp off to the sidelines. [/SIZE] [SIZE=2]Atrix shrugs apologetically to Kay, and then gets distracted again by the feeling of her in his arms as they whirl around and he lifts her into the air. “Thank you, cousin,” he says, a little hoarsely, when the tirriesc is over. Kay doesn’t say anything, just smiles shakily and walks off.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]Moments later, the flushed and bruised Avric stalks up to Atrix. His voice cracks slightly with the effort of keeping it low. “Well, d’Loriad, when and where shall it be?”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]Atrix stares at the infuriated d’Aramant, and a thought occurs to him. “I’m busy tomorrow. Morning on the day after?”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“Your wedding day. How appropriate. Choice of weapons is yours. Make your peace with Ain.” As Avric turns on his heel and leaves, a thin-lipped Sarele takes his place.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“Milady,” Atrix says, bowing.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“I see you maintain your interest in sundry other women. [I]Most[/I] improper.”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“It was only a dance, milady,” Atrix offers wearily.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“Was it?” Sarele asks sharply. “I have heard rumors, Atrix d’Loriad, that your cousin Adgar has renewed his hopes of being my husband one day. Are you looking for ways to break our betrothal? Even if it were possible, I would not wish him.”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“Rumors?” says Atrix, a little shocked. “Vicious things. Not worth listening to. And there’s nothing wrong with Adgar, he’s a very nice man.”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2][B]ATRIX'S DEFENSE IS [/B]cut short by a trumpet blast, as [URL="http://www.enworld.org/forum/4371169-post20.html"]the four Generals[/URL] enter the hall: Marcor d’Syrnon, Sarquin d’Loriad, and Athriam and Mercon d’Aramant. An enormous cheer goes up from the assembled crowd, along with a spontaneous chorus of [I]The Armies March to Arawai[/I]. Sarele pushes Atrix away and moves stiffly back to the d’Nerein section of the hall.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]Darren cranes his neck to see the generals, and sees that Mercon, the towering, sandy-bearded leader of the northern d’Aramants, is walking straight toward him. Indeed, Mercon appears to be looking straight at him, with an increasingly flinty expression on his face. It takes Darren a few seconds too long to realize why this is -- indeed, it doesn’t quite strike home until he feels Calla remove her hand from his.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“My guardian,” she breathes. “My uncle.”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]Darren averts his eyes as Mercon sweeps by, beckoning Calla curtly after him. “I’ll find you,” he promises almost inaudibly as she turns to follow. There’s no fear or sadness in his voice, and Calla shoots him a quick, fragile smile before vanishing into the d’Aramant crowd.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2][B]THROUGHOUT ALL THIS[/B], Meeshak has been sustaining the light charms on the hall and taking weapons off various rowdies (many of them d’Aramant) at the portals. After several hours, he notices that he is being watched intensely by a stony-faced man with close-cropped white hair and beard, wearing priestly robes and the iron needle of the Sistechern Order. The strange priest walks over. “You make your prayers and charms in a familiar way.”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“The god we serve is One,” Meeshak replies evasively. “He inspires many of us in familiar ways.”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“I am Astacius of the Sistecherns. To what Order do you belong?”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“I do not belong to any Order,” Meeshak states, knowing that if Astacius knew the full truth, he’d do his best to have Meeshak captured and killed -- the typical Sistechern practice for apostates.[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]“Hmmm.” Astacius frowns. “An Order-less priest is defiled in the sight of Ain.”[/SIZE] [SIZE=2]Annoyed, Meeshak points upward to his contribution to the light. “We’ll let Ain be the judge of that. I don’t see your light here, brother?” [/SIZE] [SIZE=2]Astacius scowls and stalks away. Meeshak wonders idly whether the severe-looking priest still has the blessing of Ain -- he used to know several particularly cruel Sistechern priests who managed to lose it and were reduced to mere torturers, with no power to their prayers.[/SIZE] [FONT=Times New Roman][FONT=Verdana][SIZE=2][B]AS THE BALL [/B]winds down, Carwyn turns from dancing to rumor-mongering -- one of her favorite skills -- and manages to cull a few rumors from the crowd. ([I]General Sarquin d’Loriad is growing weak and incompetent; Mercon d’Aramant is a better general than Athriam, but has accepted a lower role in exchange for a huge grant of land; the Merchant’s Brotherhood is raising the price of grain on a pretext; the dwarrow are leaving, migrating east[/I]). Carwyn also notes a distraught-looking Sarele standing with her friend Herena and speaking to General Athriam, Herena’s father. She tries and fails to eavesdrop on the conversation, but she thinks she catches one familiar name: “Adgar.”[/SIZE][/FONT][/FONT] [/QUOTE]
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