The Château de D'Aubigne housed many notable features, ranging from its paradisial lush garden courtyards to its well scrubbed, marble and finely carved interior. For some, not especially the heavy diners, whom enjoyed fine drinks, exotic dishes and a notable change of scenery to elude the courtyard's more dazzling spectacles. Further past the state rooms, seating halls, and various dining suites, various orators recited poetry towards less conversable guests as smoke vapors brushed across the ceilings. The silence continued as various female servants guided one particular man to sit along the various vacant cushions to enjoying the hashish various of unused hookah pipes offered. The man had arrived rather later than many others and to some, this seemed entirely acceptable, even skirting towards displaying greater and more socially desirable qualities.
The room featured two entrances one leading towards the Château interior whilst the other sectioned into arched double-doors leading towards the outer courtyards. Serenity and luxury were not in short supply within this part of the Château and aside from the outer courtyards' dazzling commotions, the sounds of unusually powerful crackling could be still be heard, however, this early into the evening; it was not uncommon to find mischevious high born children wandering the Noble's Quarters carrying slings and disruptive streamers. Several particularly well-dressed, silk wrapped Ivalian ladies comfortably enjoyed their roasted bull and Lybim-Tartessian vintage whilst their young, Sarifen courtesans wrapped their arms around their master's waistlines. Every now and again, an odd crack startled the guests, provoking smiles and sniggers alike. 'Twas the improverished conditions owing to Sarife's patriarchical barbarity as the Ivalian's all expressed.
"'Tis thoroughly surprising our Tartessian wines reach Valanian shores," one indigo silk draped Ivalian proferred, "Is this not so, sisters?"
"Why yes," another curly haired Ivalian remarked, sipping her wines, "If not for the children of Zagros' citizens, no other merchants would have brought it now would they?"
"Perhaps you should ask our new arrival, yes?" yet another richly dressed Ivalian whimsically voiced, "He does bear a striking resemblance to the Sarifen smugglers that skirt our trade lanes outside Nova Carthago!"
"On the account of the Ecuyer, please enjoy yourself this evening! We have a fine selection of dishes and refreshments and if there is anything we may offer, we would be our ..." The girl paused as she momentarily eyed the man's finely embroidered attire before continuing, "pleasure to suit your needs."
''What am I doing here?''Hours ago, Korkud was inside a humid, hollow barn that was disguised as an inn. A few days back, he was eating meat, somehow evolved into hardwood, alongside a bunch of religious fanatic tribesmen whose entire lives were spent trying to kill things and not dying the day after. He had seen a child break his neck for a piece of fish and then he had seen cannibals dragging the boy's body away. And now here he was, walking amongst pretentious, disgusting, non-sapient slimes who hadn't spent a day wiping their asses on silken sheets. Like the embroidery on his clothing, he was there and a presence - but like the long faded colors of said clothes, he was lifeless and distant.
For him, it was the only way to tolerate the travesty that these 'people' were carrying out here while those they were supposed to rule over were starving outside. In his mind was a distant story which presented similar circumstances. An abbey home to a masquerade, and suffering outside. Much to the reader's relief, the suffering outside would become incarnate and enter the abbey, and bring death to those who thought they had cheated justice. He felt like that man - he wanted to be that man - only that circumstances did not allow him to pour what's outside into this gathering. He could feel others eyeing him, talking about him as if he were like a curiosity brought from distant lands.
There was a woman in front of him, speaking to him in a soft buzz. He was not listening to her words specifically, but her tone came off as pleasant, if not suggestive. She had a nice hooked nose. Korkud wanted to bite it off. He wanted to bite it off and then chew it and then swallow it.
"On the account of the Ecuyer, please enjoy yourself this evening! We have a fine selection of dishes and refreshments and if there is anything we may offer, it would be our... pleasure to suit your needs." He looked at her face. She was pretty. They wouldn't let ugly ones in such a place anyway, not unless if they were rich or if they served a purpose, like him. He paused for a minute. Then he made his mind up.
''Yes. I'd rather if you'd leave.''
A raised eye brow and quizzical glance soon followed. A moment later, the woman's defeated look held through flashes of greater, more sinister judgment and parted an acknowledging nod before finger snaps waved her companions away.
"As you wish," the hosting woman quietly answered as she seductively removed both hands.
Their departure left the man utterly alone, yet his wish had been granted and as servers, their business lay elsewhere as was their nature to gravitate towards more lucrative and amicable clientele. A short pivot later, their busy hips swayed into a show of flashy glamour, spreading their bobbing and weaving their thigh reaching drapes. Drowsily, the Ivalians took little to no notice as they sipped their vintages, bent upon discussing family matters, the blooming floral nurseries sprouting along the Kartalian coastline, and news regarding relatives residing within Ivalis' distant client colonies.
Some lamented upon the failures to acquire a new watermelon seed strain that only grew within Sarife's interior heartlands and news of the Ivalian Navy's increasing presence following elevated reports of repeated and determined sea incursions from fast moving armored hordes of the far north and east. New precautionary measures had put a strain upon the maritime trade lanes, elevating the cost of tariffs, weapons, and munitions as Ivalian client colonies sought to reinforce their defenses.
Yet again, the more middle aged Ivalians took little notice of the man, preferring their meals, hashish, or drinks whilst hearing the scholars orate. The small number of younger Ivalian girls seemed remarkably more attentive as evidenced through their periodical glances and giggles. The distant cracks had since grown louder alongside the outer courtyards' commotion, provoking several to depart towards the Chateau interior for greater peace.
“...finally … another brother Sarifen!" a young male servant robed in dark blue greeted as his eyes rested upon the lone man, "Az molaghat-e shomâ khosh vaghtam, sir. The Ivalians are so numerous, it is unfortunate that their own love for wealth is as dreadful as their worship for their false matron goddess Athirat. Thank Yadin-Hamon our fellow Sarifens do not sucuumb to such heresy!"
The servant rose and kneeled as his lady master's expression turned glaringly unpleasant. "Milady Heurassein, what are your bearings? Weren't you discussing the state of your arms exports? To my understanding, the Ivalians are in great need of the Heurassein Arms Company's munitions shipments and have constituted an expanding market, yes?”
"My boy, everyone is in great need of powder," Adrianna replied. "Do you know why I carry a pistol? Because with it, no knife wielding bandit would dare approach me. No one dares attack someone more dangerous than themselves. The same is true of nations. It's a constant struggle to see who controls the most arms. And that's where I come in." In all honesty half the things that came out of her mouth was nonsense, drabble to appease those expecting something from her. In truth though, she found the Ivalians quite interesting and saw potential allies in them; which is why she had begun dealing arms to them at reduced cost. A society with authority given to women was quite frankly, brilliant. One of the reasons she refused to marry was so she didn't have to give up her position in her father's business. That and she had no desire to become some decoration for a man, like some of the girls here putting on fake smiles and laughs.
The seductresses, obnoxious as they were, knew how to carry out a request, and they were quick in leaving Korkud on his own. For a moment, Korkud was free to think, and with the distant cracks in mind, (he guessed gunshots, as he couldn't see any trace of fireworks) wanted to find the man who had invited him here as soon as possible, and it seemed that the only way to find said man was to follow the crowd, much to his chagrin. It seemed to him that the banquet was far from over, however, so he took a minute to appreciate the distant music. Despite his love of music, he had never been able to produce any - he had never been taught how to play an instrument. And it was too late now.
And as if time had decided that it had granted enough peace of mind to Korkud, a young lad appeared out of nowhere, talking about Ivalians and just how bad they were. He was yet another annoyance that Korkud wanted to get away from, but then he started talking about heresy, which ticked something off in Korkud's head. He clenched his teeth so that he wouldn't punch the fellow's gut. Fortunately for both him and Korkud, his master appeared soon with a displeased expression on her face, which led the lad to change the conversation topic immediately to something Korkud liked much more - gunpowder. He had heard of the Heurassein Company's name - although he had never done any business with them, caravans in Sarife occasionally carried barrels marked with said company's seals.
''You are Lady Heurassein? Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Bahram Isfendiyar - in the same business as you, actually.'' He offered his hand to the woman, with a crude imitation of a smile on his face.
"Please, you make me sound like my mother. You may address me by name, Adrianna." The man in front of her clearly didn't fit in, lacking the eloquant civility of these pompous highsociety types. "I would hope we're not in the same business, I wouldn't want to put you out of it," she said in half jest. But just half. "I'm afraid I've never heard your name before. So tell me, what exactly is your business?"
''Well then, Adrianna, I was wrong in my choice of words. I am not in the gunpowder business - I design arms, and production only occurs if I can get my hands on resources. But I can't say I have much of that back in Sarife. I'm finding it hard to find any customers that I can trust. Business is stale.'' For a moment, he stopped maintaining eye contact and raised his brow. ''We may have business to do in the future. I sense that we have suitable assets for each other.'' For a split second he regretted putting it that way, considering how it could be misunderstood, but carried on anyway. ''Where is the host of this banquet?''
"I fear I know next to nothing of our host. Truth be told, I only came for food and drink. I usually have little interest in these events, which serve to feed the ego of whichever society had laid it on." In her fatigue in the lateness of the night, Adrianna may have let some of her true thoughts slip. Despite appearances, she couldn't be more different than these high-society types. They didn't know life outside of their decadent homes, nor did they appreciate the warmth that came from a fire on a cold winter's night. They hadn't endured the cold streets with an empty belly. But appearances were everything to these people, so she put on a mask when it served her interests.
"So you manufacture arms, you say?" she asked Bahram. "Indeed, I may very soon find myself in search of the services of one such as yourself. But moreso than cost or quality, what I value in a business partner is discretion. You must understand that in my business privacy if of great concern. So, Sir Isfendiyar, how well can you keep secrets?"
''Damn it.'' He had hoped that the woman had some knowledge on the host's location, but all Korkud had received was a short-lived rant on the guests. Korkud guessed that she'd slipped up, considering how it was cut short. It had served to spark some sympathy for the woman inside him, however. He repeatedly nodded his head as the woman continued talking. He found it interesting that the woman could give up a secret to a man she had just met. He didn't expect her to actually do it, however. ''If I said yes, would you believe me?'' He asked the woman, eyes fixed onto hers.
"I'm not in the business of games. Save the rhetoric for the jesters" she said, slightly annoyed by his lack of brevity. From his response she started to get the idea that he was the tricky sort. The type of person with his own agenda up his sleeve. Not unlike most, but smarter. She still was weary to trust, but wasn't insterested in making an enemy either. "Hmm, it seems my glass has emptied. Excuse me while I refresh my drink."
"Milady! Allow me to fill your glass! Your rank is above equal and is undeserving of such commoner labors," the servant as he respectfully assured before darting away in an attempt to intercept a departing refreshment carrier. The orator voices continually recited the classics upon their pedestals whilst hashish vapors briefly swirled towards the decorated ceilings. The nearby courtyards had since become an extroardinary festive gathering; the likes of which seemed rather typical amongst most aristocratic gatherers. The more notable Ivalian ladies had not seemed to offer remote attention towards the Sarifen duo, however, given their uncharacteristically dreamy eyes, one could not ascertain as to how they could have overlooked an intrinsic opportunity to safeguard their wealth and trade partnerships.
Korkud's face took on a visage of annoyance for a moment, and he sighed under his breath.
''Games? Rhetoric?'' He was quite baffled. Who would believe someone who'd say that he could be trusted? Or rather, would anybody admit that they're not a man to be trusted? He wished to respond, but the woman quickly found an excuse to take a break from the conversation.
''Women.'' If only all of them were like Darya.
''Darya..'' He mentally slapped himself.
''No time for grieving.'' For a second, he wanted to walk away and seek out the host, but decided to stay.
''He called me. He'll find me. Business is more important. Can't find business easy.''"Milady," the servant puffed, offering a large glass filled in the swirling rare vintage only the priviledged could afford, "Your drink. The infidel almost escaped me, however, I caught him ... before he could return to the outer courtyard."
At this point Adrianna had perhaps enjoyed a little too much wine. She didn't even look at the servant boy as she took the glass. "Ahh yes, thank you. I think I'll find myself some company that is less... humorless. Should you decide, Sir Isfendiyar, that you desire my business, then do stay in touch," she said before walking, with the slightest unbalance, to a group of finely dressed ladies. Drunken men tend to talk, and women tended to hear things. A little gossip between girls could lead to juicy secrets.
The room and outer courtyard suddenly came alive and ignited in festivities as the sounds of instruments, laughter, and shuffles neared. Sparks flew into the air and the sounds of whistles and crackles erupted into dazzling spectacles that featured sparkling streamers, fire breathing, and juggling stilt walkers. Many guests clapped amidst the vigorous dancing and lively instrumental performances that had only enhanced the enlightening spectacles that surrounded a large group of guests remained locked in arm.
The claps grew louder with every passing moment and the feet shuffles rumbled across the floor alongside furious lyre performances. The Ivalian arm circle dances were popular favorites amongst the guests amongst the many festivities unfolding across the estate. The spectacles were aplenty and the furious lyre choruses buzzed through the lavish, hashish filled state rooms. Shouts and more sparkles shifted into air, as the dancing circle opened to allow newcomers into the lively gathering.
Yet again, many others stumbled through the lush estate gardens to unveil their uncouth drinking habits. The debauchery had already claimed several guests, who had either collapsed from exhaustion or excessive drinking. Elsewhere, the young dancing men and girls twirled through the gardens and past the drunken guests, lively performers, and laughing guests to pull smiling guests towards the dancing circle. This coupled together alongside periodical bangs to announce the spectacle's displays whilst re-igniting the sparkling streamers that continually flared over the guests' heads.
Amidst the several guests tottered forward and began to tumble over amongst the dancing circle, earning laughter and jovial scorn amongst various bystanders and jesters. Members of various embarrassed parties simply tottered over on their sides as roaring laughter and whistling cheers erupted across the crowds. One particularly debauched man shouted frantically and stumbled upon a sparkling streamer before careening and collapsing into a crumpled heap into a pair of juggling stilt walking jesters.
A scream suddenly erupted from the crowd as a pool of red began to simmer from the man lay motionless. More screams erupted as several additional guests soaked in blood tottered across the courtyards. Some cried for help whilst others simply gasped for breath and collapsed, never to rise again. The furious lyres began to fade as footsteps and battle cries shuffled across the courtyards. The bangs that had become such a dazzling spectacle amongst the banquet grew louder, however, instead of harmless sparks, explosions tore through the estate, ripping apart an unfortunate pair of Ivalian guests.
Shocked, the guests and performers ceased all activities whilst some screamed and dove for cover as sporadic musket balls, arrows, and javelins rained upon the estate grounds. Further towards the hashish filled state room, the dancing circle immediately broke apart as stunned guests looked on with complete and utter confusion. Others frantically rushed towards the Château interior whilst several household retainers and servants unsheathed their concealed weapons in a ring of steel. The lush groves, and ornately carved statues suddenly burst with activity as soldiers wearing dark turquoise overcoat and red salvar entered the estate grounds.
The Nezam-e-Jadid had arrived, yet they strangely ignored the guests and quickly assembled to form skirmishing lines facing towards the adjacent street. Moments later, the streets swarmed with large groups of armed Paighan men-at-arms carrying an assortment of ranged weaponry. Several Azad aristocrats clad in ornamented armors shouted orders towards their banner-men to signal a charge, only to fall as the Nezamnisarries raked their lines with several crippling musket, archer, and crossbow salvos.
As the Sarifens returned sporadic fire and retreated, one Nezam warrior wearing officer stripes barked orders and rushed towards the Hashish state room to join alongside his subordinates. The soldiers calmly maintained positions, rotated ranks, and maintained continuous, disciplined vollies of rippling fire, whilst cutting down more fleeing Paighans. Smoke had begun to engulf the outer courtyards and many guests, the Ivalians included screamed in a panicked frenzy before fleeing towards the interior Château grounds as deafening battle cries announced yet another Paighan assault.
Shortly after another murderous musket volley, the officer barked orders yet again, provoking the Nezam orta squadrons to peel away towards the Château interior as the streets once again swarmed with hundreds of armed and angry Paighan conscripts. Amidst the retreat, a large volley opened across the courts and into the retreating Nezam line. Several Nezam Warriors fell only to be dragged away by their companions; however, in the din of battle, an empty hand cannon and munition pouches clattered to the ground near a particular guest's feet.
Spoopy Scary
ButtsnBalls
Naril
