Difference between revisions of "Dubhaine Family/Cathal/Roleplays/1011/August"
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"My dear old friend," Cathal stood waiting at the gate as the priest approached, "the people of Minas Thalion welcome you. I've had rooms prepared in my private chambers that you may rest from your labours, and tomorrow I shall hold such a feast in your honour as men shall sing of unto the ninth generation." | "My dear old friend," Cathal stood waiting at the gate as the priest approached, "the people of Minas Thalion welcome you. I've had rooms prepared in my private chambers that you may rest from your labours, and tomorrow I shall hold such a feast in your honour as men shall sing of unto the ninth generation." | ||
| + | |||
| + | ---- | ||
| + | |||
| + | "To hear the name of Cathal Dubhaine is to catch a breeze of the winds of fate, to glimpse the shifting of long-stilled Shadows." | ||
| + | |||
| + | The Shaman's steps were slow. The gentle waving of his robes, deliberate and controlled. The intricately stitched patterns were so dense that images seemed to emerge across each new and rhythmic contour. He would often tell that they offered direction toward one's performance upon the shifting Stage. | ||
| + | |||
| + | "To see him is to feel the course of the eternal Play flow 'twixt open fingers." | ||
| + | |||
| + | Long ago a warrior of renown, the Shaman's broad shoulders seemed diminished as he hunched beneath the heavy fabrics. The stoic eyes of a man consumed by duty had long dulled with the weight of penance. For years now, he had been so very tired. | ||
| + | |||
| + | "But to speak with him is to touch history itself!" | ||
| + | |||
| + | He laughed quietly, a dry grin crossing his face as he straightened up to more properly greet the new Imperial Lord. | ||
| + | |||
| + | "You know, sometimes I think to pen from your tale an epic. But no sooner do I turn around and you've gone and changed the ending! Rest I must and feast I shall. If you will so have it, a small troupe is under my employ and will gladly perform tomorrow in your honor." | ||
| + | |||
| + | ---- | ||
| + | |||
| + | "Such a fine gift of wisdom will put my humble hall to shame," Cathal bowed with deep solemnity, his hands drawn as a curtain before his face. | ||
| + | |||
| + | He held that pose for a long second, and about him his retainers stood dumbstruck and confused. But even as they pondered whom this man in his strange attire might be that their liege should pay him such singular honour, a deep laugh emerged from Lord Cathal's throat and he stood arms outstretched in welcome and embraced the Shaman as a brother. | ||
| + | |||
| + | "It's good to see you still in one piece, you old charlatan. And perhaps I'll find a way to pay you well in kind before this age is ended, for the epic of my days has indeed taken a strange twist. On this matter more than any other I seek your counsel, for whom else is as wise in the lore of the stage? But come, there are too many prying ears here to discuss such matters freely." | ||
| + | |||
| + | And with that Lord Cathal lead his guest within. | ||
Revision as of 18:15, 11 August 2011
Contents
August 11th -- Alebad
Cathal sat upon the throne of Minas Thalion and pondered the future. Across his lap the blade Inescapable Doom lay sheathed, a reminder of the purpose with which he had entered these lands, and upon his head sat the simple circlet of the Imperial Lordship.
Strange were the ways of fate, or more accurately, strange were the ways of the Gods.
In a former age he had fought as Alebad's ally, the General who held her southern flank when her own knights would not do so. The sorrow of those days hung heavy in his thoughts, the thousands who died at his command in the fields of Abaka to prove a point of principle.
He remembered a time when those memories had torn at his heart like an eagle's talons, before the cleansing fire of the Flesh Incorruptible had healed him of all hurts.
"Your Excellency," a herald burst into the chamber, panting and breathless.
Cathal turned his attention to the young guardsman, probably no more than sixteen years of age.
"I bring... a... message from the... captain of... the guard..." deep gasps shook his body, turning his words into a series of disjointed fragments.
"Take a deep breath lad and calm yourself, I have known of Lord Aepyornis' coming these past two days", Cathal stood and hooked the scabbard to his belt, the sword lost to sight amidst the folds of his plain woollen cloak.
"But my Lord, his herald has only just arrived to announce his approach!" The page pulled himself upright, his mouth hanging half-open.
The palace was a hive of activity, servants scurrying too and fro on the many errands attendant on a great banquet. Tonight Alebad paid host not only to Count Aepyornis of Helsera, a priest accounted wise beyond his years, but also to Ambassador Gellin from Giblot.
Such an event had not been held in all the years since the foundation of the realm and as ever where ignorance reigns, rumour and wild speculation filled the void.
"My dear old friend," Cathal stood waiting at the gate as the priest approached, "the people of Minas Thalion welcome you. I've had rooms prepared in my private chambers that you may rest from your labours, and tomorrow I shall hold such a feast in your honour as men shall sing of unto the ninth generation."
"To hear the name of Cathal Dubhaine is to catch a breeze of the winds of fate, to glimpse the shifting of long-stilled Shadows."
The Shaman's steps were slow. The gentle waving of his robes, deliberate and controlled. The intricately stitched patterns were so dense that images seemed to emerge across each new and rhythmic contour. He would often tell that they offered direction toward one's performance upon the shifting Stage.
"To see him is to feel the course of the eternal Play flow 'twixt open fingers."
Long ago a warrior of renown, the Shaman's broad shoulders seemed diminished as he hunched beneath the heavy fabrics. The stoic eyes of a man consumed by duty had long dulled with the weight of penance. For years now, he had been so very tired.
"But to speak with him is to touch history itself!"
He laughed quietly, a dry grin crossing his face as he straightened up to more properly greet the new Imperial Lord.
"You know, sometimes I think to pen from your tale an epic. But no sooner do I turn around and you've gone and changed the ending! Rest I must and feast I shall. If you will so have it, a small troupe is under my employ and will gladly perform tomorrow in your honor."
"Such a fine gift of wisdom will put my humble hall to shame," Cathal bowed with deep solemnity, his hands drawn as a curtain before his face.
He held that pose for a long second, and about him his retainers stood dumbstruck and confused. But even as they pondered whom this man in his strange attire might be that their liege should pay him such singular honour, a deep laugh emerged from Lord Cathal's throat and he stood arms outstretched in welcome and embraced the Shaman as a brother.
"It's good to see you still in one piece, you old charlatan. And perhaps I'll find a way to pay you well in kind before this age is ended, for the epic of my days has indeed taken a strange twist. On this matter more than any other I seek your counsel, for whom else is as wise in the lore of the stage? But come, there are too many prying ears here to discuss such matters freely."
And with that Lord Cathal lead his guest within.
