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A kings' political marriage plan- closed

Vyarin nodded slowly, trying to watch the surrounding courtiers without staring directly at them. Nosy nobles, so they were indeed. Many weren't even hiding it very well, stealing long glances at the two of them while their conversation partners spoke with exaggerated motion to keep up appearances, or lowering their voices to hushed whispers when they could see either of them talk. He was being stared at, listened to, every word was compromised here in this crowd. Annalise had the right idea, whispering into his ear.

"I see," he said, finally, when he felt decently certain that nobody was watching. "A shame that issues would form in that way." Was that wording vague enough to be dismissed? Did he come across as too cold to Annalise? He was too fixated on the nobles. "I am not so worried. My cousin Tellos brought with us a number of loyal men. If such a need arises for them, they will serve you- err, your father." He kept his voice low, mimicking her, though perhaps he needn't bother. What were the odds of anyone in that crowd being fluent in Prozdy?

Night of the Hunt - a Bloodborne RP

Hello, I'd like to ask if this rp is still open for new members.

A kings' political marriage plan- closed

"Is that an answer?" Tellos asked. "That does not sound like an-"

"I think!" Vyarin half-shouted, throwing an arm in front of the squatter Tellos' face, before he could finish. "I think that the best thing is for you to gather the rest of the honour guard. I will be safe here, in front of hundreds of pairs of eyes." Tellos' face soured. He looked back to Brudzkon, who caught it and returned his own.

"Now, where was I? Oh yes, as I was saying . . ." Brudzkon started again with the other courtiers, seamlessly transitioning back to the conversation. Unlike his two masters, Brudzkon spoke the Apura language flawlessly, as if having been born within the palace itself. He was a slight man, of middling height, his hair less blond than those of his people and tending closer to brown. To any but the most trained of spies, he could originate from anywhere at all.

"Indeed, cousin. I have Brudzkon to watch me, if nobody else. If you take this time now to mobilize the guard, on the king's orders, we shouldn't fear any crisis at all," Vyarin said, grinning wanly. Tellos finally stormed off, as much as he can through the crowd and the watchful gazes, muttering something in his own native Ezadion, a farther march-land of the League with a language quite unlike Prozdy. Vyarin himself spoke nothing of it. With Tellos gone, Vyarin turned his attention back to Annalise. "He is an administrator and a war-leader. One of the most meritous in our history, it is said." His expression is sheepish. Perhaps it was time to broach this serious topic, and cut this charade the two shared. ". . . You don't suppose something is . . . gone wrong? Over there, regarding your father." Vyarin did everything he could not to point.

A kings' political marriage plan- closed

@LostDestiny Sorry, don't want to be a bother, just reminding you that it's your turn in our conversation. I'd be happy to change my post if it's difficult to respond to.

The Prophecy of Ash (A Dark Souls RP) ~Re-Boot?~

Hi, I've been recently getting back into Dark Souls 3, and would love to join this rp.

A kings' political marriage plan- closed

"Siblings . . ." Vyarin muttered. He picked up on Annalise's unsettled air. When he could see she wasn't looking at him, his eyes began to wander about the room as well, settling on faces. Something was off. The king was pacing back and forth in a corner of the hall, urgency in every step. It seemed the two were playing some sort of game, Vyarin and Annalise, pretending to look at each other while glancing as much as possible at the king and his retinue. ". . . No siblings. I am the only son of my father. I have many cousins. The clan Kremazov is among the largest east of the Zpina and north of the Rezevy." He didn't even catch her reaction.

A hand clapping his shoulder caused Vyarin to whirl about, his nerves shot to the core. A sharp whisper in his ear stopped him dead.

"Just us, don't appear too alarmed," whispered Tellos. "Finish your conversation. Our safety here can no longer be a guarantee." Vyarin looked sheepishly at his cousin, and then back at Annalise.

"Erm . . . I introduce Tellos of the clan Kremazov, my most trusted advisor second to my father," said Vyarin to the princess, gesturing awkwardly. He noticed Brudzkon standing not too far away, smiling and chatting with other guests as usual, but his hand would occasionally wander to the hilt of his shashka.

"A pleasure to be of acquainted," Tellos said, bowing and speaking in the Apura tongue. His accent shone through quite clearly. "You and . . . cousin . . . are met? Beginning of good friendship, yes?"

A kings' political marriage plan- closed

Vyarin nodded, looking away at the baroque-esque decorations lining the walls. If she could speak Prozdy, then how many others here? This sort of information was not the sort of thing he'd like to have getting out.

"He was the better man," Vyarin said, through gritted teeth. It was the truth, after all.

It was the second thing she said, however, that really shook him. He almost swung around, his massive frame almost jostling a nearby couple, to face Annalise. Slowly, he pointed to his own eye, the one on the left. The broken one, the useless one. Then, his right eye flicking about a bit, he pointed to hers, on her right and his left.

"I am sorry," Vyarin said, slowly. The only thing he knew to say at the moment. Secretly, he was almost glad, as sadistic as that seems. The two of them were not dissimilar, not in that way. "Sometimes it is difficult to walk for you as well? To break things you did not see and strike walls and doors with your head?" He spoke softly, nearing a whisper, not daring to raise his voice and make this private moment known to the entire hall. In his own mind, he can imagine his own left eye, unbroken and uncovered, but blind nonetheless, staring into hers, that connection never being made. Maybe it was wrong of him to talk about it so. "It is unpleasant. I don't want for our mutual annoyances to interfere with our good conversation." He thought about what he could say. Anything, anything else at all. " . . . Perhaps you have visited my homeland once, as I am visiting yours? If you ever return there, I must ask you to see the Zhonov-Kremazov Music Hall, built in honour of my father by the noble Prince Ulyin of the clan Zhonov. I have seen many beautiful buildings, and that one is highest among them, on the inside and the outside. Excepting of course your home . . ." He added the last sentence upon remembering himself. It would be an insult to her clan were he to so emphatically declare anything of theirs so superior to anything of hers. "Perhaps, in good luck, I will host you there."

A kings' political marriage plan- closed

"I-" The eye, of course. Vyarin looked down at her with the one remaining, his hand reaching up until it touched the rag. He daren't press in, for fear of what lay beneath. Not even he knew anymore. It could still be there, slashed through the iris until it looked like the slit from a lizard's eye. It could be a rotted and gnarled lump, black and squishy. It could just be gone, faded away by time leaving behind a cavernous lump. The thought made him sick. He didn't want to think about it.

"It . . . should not have been. A sensitive matter, an accident from when I had to act on behalf of my father," he finally said, quietly, glancing down at the shashka sitting at his hip. It was the same one from that fateful day. The lands beyond the League tended to look down upon the duel as a barbaric practice, he had learned. They were sunny people, accustomed to leisure and finery and peace. Fine castles and palaces, rather than grim motte and bailey keeps. Marble rather than granite. Life is far more precious this far south, it seems. Far more to enjoy. Vyarin finally looked up, to meet Annalise's eye, almost afraid that he might see dissatisfaction there. He felt guilty, dancing around the issue. "You have heard of a . . . Country Haircut?" he chanced, a common euphemism known around the Zpina for a dueling-related injury. If her tutor in Prozdy was a native speaker, she must have heard the phrase at some point.

A kings' political marriage plan- closed

Vyarin simply smiled wanly and nodded as the king spoke. His speaking was decidedly ancient in its style. He spoke in flowery euphemisms, in almost lyrical metre, as if he were reciting a poem in Literary Prozdy. Vyarin himself had grown up without such appreciation for the humanities, and thus even speaking in his own tongue he was brutish and direct. "Soldier-speak", his father would say often to other princes of the League, especially when they were trying to avoid having to discuss their own mistakes in combat. He doubted even if he responded in Prozdy that the king and himself could truly communicate well. Eventually, the older man left him, seemingly satisfied with the impression he made, to speak to a lady of the court, or perhaps one of his daughters. Vyarin continued to nod a bit after he had left, although he couldn't clearly say why. Something of the old king's presence had a habit of lingering.

Then, soon as the king was gone, Vyarin noticed a lady of the court stumble before another courtier. He immediately felt an instinct of shock grip his heart, almost similar to his own shock were he in her own place. The scene appeared somehow so familiar. She composed herself and continued on. Was she approaching . . . him? Indeed, she was, as she stopped in front of Vyarin and dipped in that curious style so common among women in these foreign lands.

She spoke Prozdy as well. It was of the same pattern, and the same accent. Vyarin realized then that this was no mere lady, but one of the king's daughters. When she finished Vyarin responded with his own bow, in mimicry of the local style, and responded in his own language.

"I am honoured to be your guest," Vyarin said to the princess. She was so incredibly small, standing before him. "We traveled a great distance and long hours. I am of the clan Kremazov, Vyarin son of Zarrir. Who are you daughter of?"

A kings' political marriage plan- closed

"Apology, I- uhh . . ." Vyarin stammered his apologies to the king in the local tongue. He stopped himself before he said something he well shouldn't, and instead dropped to one knee. He had seen such practice in the surrounding lands. Hopefully it was similarly applicable here. "I am . . . servant. To you," he finally said. The king's Prozdy-speech was good, for a foreigner at least. Certainly better than Vyarin's own Apura-tongue.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the presence of a few more faces in the back of the crowd as he stood again. Tellos had managed to shuffle in, having exchanged his armour for his finery, and beside him one other, a warrior Vyarin knew by the name of Brudzkon "the Many-Faced". He felt a wave of relief, knowing that some support has arrived in this grandiose and cavernous court. Vyarin's and Tellos' eyes met, and the latter made a motion to his compatriot. They were both loyal men, and spirited besides. They will represent Prozdy well here.