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Oracle sipped her steaming tea relishing the fragrant, bitter liquid. She'd taken afternoon tea put on her balcony that day. Little plates full of scones and tarts with the sigils of the Seven painted on them with sweet cream lay before her- Chef Frey was obviously in the sway of the festivities. Her mouth all but watered when the trays arrived as the chef was liberal with his richer spices when the Festival of Festivals was about. Four maids stood nearby in pretty blue dresses with enough frills to make a French debutante sick, ready to serve their mistress should she need anything. Rarely did she- the Oracle was far for some doddering old fool who needed her tea poured for her. Sometimes this life is wasted on me, she mused.
The Oracle wore a simple summer dress of white lace with some frills about the hem, her shoulders exposed saucily, not that anyone dared give her shoulders a second glance, or a first. She had her frosted blond hair bound in a loose bun. A shawl on silk waited in her lap. She watched with keen, ocean blue eyes as the people cheered, sang, and made merry in the streets below. Columns of stone, galleries, and every building lining the vast streets of Elysium's Ruler District were decorated in banners of lost civilizations, kingdoms, and kings. The nearby lagoon, was flooded with boats laden with glowing lanterns. Flicker’s of light and reflection danced and played across the surface. Even from her towers she could point out the sigil of King Arthur, the Knights of Fianna, and even of Iskandar, King of Conquerors stitched into the lanterns. She scanned the rows of flags that flew for countries long dead, forgotten by all save the people of Elysium. They would remember them, their story was a small part of Earth's own. Above them all, fixed to the sea of dusky stars with ghostly light were the seven sigils: the double-edged sword of Saber, the simple spear of Lancer, the curved bow of Archer, the proud steed of Rider, the mythical staff of Caster, the chilling mask of Assassin, and lastly, the horned helm of Berserker.
“They’ll be arriving soon,” she whispered.
“Something wrong ma’am?”
A look of concern was painted on her maids’ faces. The Oracle then noticed why. She wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks. God help her the these last few days were getting to her. “I’m fine my dear.” She smiled, her mask back in place. She looked down at the festivities.
“Rythe.”
A gloved hand lightly gripped the Oracle’s pale fingers and the hairs of a perfectly trimmed mustache tickled her flesh as he pressed his lips to her hand. Her stayed bowed before the Oracle. He was a thin man in the black vestments of a butler, complete with monocle and a raven’s head cane in his other gloved hand. He was handsome in the way a violent storm on the horizon is beautiful. The four maids curtsied in unison polite smiles on their faces, they were quite unfazed with how he chose to answer their lady’s summons.
“Find them my friend, and bring them here.” She stood up, wrapping her shawl about her shoulders. She stepped toward the balcony railing. “We wouldn’t want them late for tea.” Wisps of mana alighted from her fingers and she addressed her people.
"My lady." He bowed again then wasn’t there as if he hadn’t been in the first place.
“Elysium!” Silence fell over the whole of Elysium as the Oracle’s ethereal visage stood proud atop the crystal blue lagoon. “Once a year we celebrate our salvation from a doomed world. For nearly two thousand years we have endured the ravages of time, our traditions strong, our souls unbreakable. Where our brother and sisters have left behind the rich history we would be nothing without, we will remember!” A cheer rose up louder than before. "We honor those that came before with our joy. So I say rejoice, enjoy all there is to offer my friends. Soon the Trail of Seven will take place, and we will again behold our Ruler!”
The roar of the crowd was deafening even from where she stood.
Fate/ Elysium
Grail Festival Parade
Friday, December, 1st, 7090 | The Oracle's Balcony
Oracle sipped her steaming tea relishing the fragrant, bitter liquid. She'd taken afternoon tea put on her balcony that day. Little plates full of scones and tarts with the sigils of the Seven painted on them with sweet cream lay before her- Chef Frey was obviously in the sway of the festivities. Her mouth all but watered when the trays arrived as the chef was liberal with his richer spices when the Festival of Festivals was about. Four maids stood nearby in pretty blue dresses with enough frills to make a French debutante sick, ready to serve their mistress should she need anything. Rarely did she- the Oracle was far for some doddering old fool who needed her tea poured for her. Sometimes this life is wasted on me, she mused.
The Oracle wore a simple summer dress of white lace with some frills about the hem, her shoulders exposed saucily, not that anyone dared give her shoulders a second glance, or a first. She had her frosted blond hair bound in a loose bun. A shawl on silk waited in her lap. She watched with keen, ocean blue eyes as the people cheered, sang, and made merry in the streets below. Columns of stone, galleries, and every building lining the vast streets of Elysium's Ruler District were decorated in banners of lost civilizations, kingdoms, and kings. The nearby lagoon, was flooded with boats laden with glowing lanterns. Flicker’s of light and reflection danced and played across the surface. Even from her towers she could point out the sigil of King Arthur, the Knights of Fianna, and even of Iskandar, King of Conquerors stitched into the lanterns. She scanned the rows of flags that flew for countries long dead, forgotten by all save the people of Elysium. They would remember them, their story was a small part of Earth's own. Above them all, fixed to the sea of dusky stars with ghostly light were the seven sigils: the double-edged sword of Saber, the simple spear of Lancer, the curved bow of Archer, the proud steed of Rider, the mythical staff of Caster, the chilling mask of Assassin, and lastly, the horned helm of Berserker.
“They’ll be arriving soon,” she whispered.
“Something wrong ma’am?”
A look of concern was painted on her maids’ faces. The Oracle then noticed why. She wiped away the tears rolling down her cheeks. God help her the these last few days were getting to her. “I’m fine my dear.” She smiled, her mask back in place. She looked down at the festivities.
“Rythe.”
A gloved hand lightly gripped the Oracle’s pale fingers and the hairs of a perfectly trimmed mustache tickled her flesh as he pressed his lips to her hand. Her stayed bowed before the Oracle. He was a thin man in the black vestments of a butler, complete with monocle and a raven’s head cane in his other gloved hand. He was handsome in the way a violent storm on the horizon is beautiful. The four maids curtsied in unison polite smiles on their faces, they were quite unfazed with how he chose to answer their lady’s summons.
“Find them my friend, and bring them here.” She stood up, wrapping her shawl about her shoulders. She stepped toward the balcony railing. “We wouldn’t want them late for tea.” Wisps of mana alighted from her fingers and she addressed her people.
"My lady." He bowed again then wasn’t there as if he hadn’t been in the first place.
“Elysium!” Silence fell over the whole of Elysium as the Oracle’s ethereal visage stood proud atop the crystal blue lagoon. “Once a year we celebrate our salvation from a doomed world. For nearly two thousand years we have endured the ravages of time, our traditions strong, our souls unbreakable. Where our brother and sisters have left behind the rich history we would be nothing without, we will remember!” A cheer rose up louder than before. "We honor those that came before with our joy. So I say rejoice, enjoy all there is to offer my friends. Soon the Trail of Seven will take place, and we will again behold our Ruler!”
The roar of the crowd was deafening even from where she stood.