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Courtly Matters Part 4Vidiana the Untitled, unfortunate child of a passing wench wistfully looked on as the assembled Court stretched longer into the day as morning faded into afternoon- well past when the afternoon tea ought to have been served. The nobles were clearly getting impatient as they began to stir in their seats and more and more whispered conversations cropped up. Vidiana silently scoffed. Title nobles they might be, but in name alone. Even the servant's children knew to behave better then they did. The high Lords and Ladies of Court thought so highly of themselves- their arrogance seemed to bleed from them so often, but they were nothing.
Pompous people with pompous titles led to nothing but Court rivalries and political scandals. That's what she thought at least. The servants at least knew how to keep their business to themselves, and if it did become a public ordeal, there were always ways out of it. That was, after all, how she had found herself here- little more then a scullery
Courtly Matters Part 3Sir Jorheim of Yothgard, Herald to the King, stood sharply at attention, watching the proceedings of Court from his vantage point three feet behind the King's throne. He, much like the members of the King's Guard, watched the nobles and other high lords and ladies of the Court with halfhearted interest. They were, by far, the most interesting part of Court in his opinion, and in the case of the guards- the most likely to pose a threat to the Crown.
As he surveyed the assembled members of Court, Sir Jorheim mentally kept note of the various people that caught his attention. In the third row, on the left side, Lady Thaila- a rather heavyset woman in all reality- was close to falling asleep, her head tilted backwards enough that with just the right angle, an archer could easily pierce her throat. Sir Jorheim shook his head slightly, dispelling that thought. There was no need to be quite so on edge- nor anything that remotely called for such thou
Courtly Matters Part 2He was Sir Edward, Head of the Order of the Nightingales. It was supposedly an honourable title, but everyone who knew anything in Court knew the truth behind it. Those who were 'awarded' the title and entry to the Order were rarely, if ever seen. It was a title given to those who would not have been accepted into any other order, short of dying for some great cause. The Order of the Nightingales were largely a wandering folk: those who chose to spend their days gallivanting the kingdoms. They were, in truth, titled nobleman who for whatever reason, chose not to stay in one place for more then a year. To be the Head of such an Order was to become the brunt all all other men's laughter, to become the lowest of noblemen, save for the members of the Order themselves.
Things were no longer going to remain that way though, not while he had a say in things. He was Sir Edward, Head of the Order of the Nightingales, one time herald, one time Champion to the prince (as short as eithe
Courtly Matters Part 1She all but shivered as the cool fingers ghosted the back of her head in a silent blessing, lingering just a moment longer then was strictly necessary- a sign of just how honoured she ought to feel.
"Rise, Baroness," The words were cool, almost distant, but she could feel the Queen's gentle gaze, even as her own head remained bowed, maintaining eye contact with a point mere inches from the Queen's left shoe.
Baroness Lydalia von Gertzweinog gracefully got to her feet, her full skirts billowing out slightly with the movement.
"Rise and join my Court with Our blessings, Baroness Lydalia," the Queen said once more, finally making the proclamation truly official.
"It would be my honour," Lydalia said, dropping into a deep curtsy before she stepped back to join the other Ladies of the Court.
It would be my honour. The other Baronesses silently scoffed amongst themselves. How many times had they spoken the same words, and meant even less by them. Even a fool knew that the title Barone
Stars are FallingThere was, of course, the semi-popular children's story of Chicken Little circulating on the Earth, but it had never gone this far below. Sporadically throughout the day, Gravor would hear a group of adults mentioning the line that would soon haunt his memories. Gravor had requested the day off, needing a bit of time with his family before the crew ventured out on their next adventure, and if he was outright honest with himself, a few hours away from Caravi's quirky personality. 100% human contact without the risk of being attacked - that was what he really wanted.
Although the exclamation mark was clearly audible, the statement itself was always spoken in a casual, calm tone in the bright light of day. The two strangers, after having remarked on the odd fact, would then continue on with their individual lives, likely never to meet again.
After putting up with the odd situations for three hours, Gravor was unconsciously on the alert, half-suspecting to find some
Words that Serenade MeZimot blinked, mentally shaking himself. The conversation- if indeed so brief a thing could even be considered that- was not what had him so shell-shocked, but the impressions that he had received from Caravi's mind. Though the majority of the ancient being's emotions were clearly locked away and out of reach, there was still so much that he had apparently thought unnecessary to hide. Zimot shook his head, watching as Caravi continued with his frenzied path around the control room. Aside from the vague sense of intense emotions that Zimot had felt, and the clear images of the race that was apparently stalking them, Zimot knew that there was so much more to Caravi that he would never understand completely.
Let Your Clarity Define YouLet Your Clarity Define You
It had been a full eight days since Caravi had spoken anything that even remotely made sense, and it was starting to wear on the crew's nerves. After a brief, yet intense conversation, they agreed and sent a rather apprehensive Zimot to speak with him, hoping that the man's knowledge of Caravi's people would somehow help.
One hour passed, and then a second, and Zimot's frustration only increased. Already, he could feel the beginnings of a headache begin to pulse across his forehead as Caravi rambled off yet another stream of pure gibberish while darting all around the room, tinkering with various controls.
There was a reason no one had wanted to get in his way, Zimot thought ruefully. Whatever had affected Caravi's speech had seemingly also affected the rest of his mind- the ancient being was literally wired with an energy that was not natural.
"Caravi!" Zimot all but shouted when Caravi paused long enough to ask him something that soun
That's the Plan"That's the plan," Caravi said grimly as he nodded out the window. The others could see a small, rather plain box, no larger then a fist. It was already nearly a hundred meters away from them, and the distance was swiftly increasing. When it's top rotated around to face them, they could see that it was covered in the looping runes of Caravi's native tongue.
"I don't get it." Thristal said, just as Gravor spoke.
"What do you mean, 'that's the plan'?"
"Caravi," Zimot said slowly, his gaze moving from the seemingly simple box to Caravi's face, "Is that the device you've been-?"
"Working on for the last month? Yup." Caravi answered, his tone lacking it's usual energy. "Whoever's been following us literally beamed it straigh out of my hands just as I finished assembling it. It's well on the way to their ship, even if it doesn't look like it."
The rest of the crew's faces paled as the implication of that statement struck home.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More