A Royal Tragedy

[Tristan Venora]

Vhalar 96, Arc 716

„A Royal Tragedy“, the newest and as it happened first great play by Tristan Venora had originally been set to premier in Saun, but a civil war and about a million blood thirsty shadow creatures had gotten in the way, and the premiere had to be moved to late Vhalar as a consequence – which had ultimately been a good thing. The production had suffered certain problems. The female star, Valeria Macerys, had suddenly stopped eating. One of the male stars had gone missing for a couple of trials, and a few of the props almost hadn’t been finished on time. Some critics claimed that the aforementioned problems were at least in part due to the young playwright’s inexperience and would not have happened if someone older had been in charge. Of course the young playwright in question didn’t care what those people said. He just relished the extra attention and was glad that it had all worked out in the end.

---

Rynmere Theatre was already normally an impressive building with its marble walls, but that trial it possessed a shimmer that equaled that of the twin suns. Every surface and even the street in front of the theatre had been cleaned. Rumour had it that King Cassander himself would attend the premiere, and Lady Jane Andaris, the manager, had decided that everything needed to be perfect as a consequence. The premiere took place in the evening, at dusk when the entire city was cast in twilight and the suns slowly disappeared behind the horizon. Lamps had been lit in front of the building, and a red carpet had been spread in front of the entrance for that special guest so that the atmosphere was almost magical.

Guards already patrolled around the theatre under normal circumstances as it was quite frequently visited by members of the seven noble houses, but that trial the protection had been increased noticeably. Nobody wanted to risk that Rynmere suddenly ended up without a king because Cassander had decided to leave the safety of his castle and have some fun for once in his life. It was of course impossible to be prepared for everything, but Lady Andaris wanted to make it as hard as she could for potential assassins and other criminals that were tempted to take advantage of such a large gathering of important people.

Above the entrance hung a large burgundy banner (the colour of the season!) that said the following in elaborate golden letters:

"A Royal Tragedy”
A play by Tristan Venora.
Starring Daliane Andaris, Jane Andaris, Valeria Macerys and Daniel Stone
Featuring music by Andráska Venora and songs by Theodore Venora.

Dedicated to Zanik and Vri.

Below the text was the picture of a lion, the symbol of the fictional kingdom of Alamere where the play took place.

---------

In front of the doors stood a man that checked the tickets of everybody that entered. Most people had already reserved tickets weeks in advance, although a few were still available and could be bought directly in the theatre. Inside a small buffet had been erected where people could get snacks and drinks. The king did of course not have to get his food from there. He would receive a special meal right before the play started, a gift from House Venora, made by a very special young slave.

Lamps had been lit along the walls so that the theatre was filled with a pleasant golden glow. The comfortable seats and the carpets had been cleaned until they looked as good as new. Only the best was good enough for the king. Cassander and the other guests of honor would be allowed to enter first so as to minimize the risk of security problems.

The stage was still hidden behind a floor length red velvet curtain. A single chair stood in front of it. Before the play began, the audience would be treated to a very special kind of musical performance.

-----

Behind the stage Tristan was growing more and more nervous with every passing bit even though he had decided that he would not be nervous. There were just so many things that could still go wrong. Would Andráska arrive on time? Would he agree to play that cello solo or hide somewhere and get high and drunk because he was suffering from a terrible case of stage fright?

What if … what if he showed up, but was high, insisted on playing the cello nevertheless and messed everything up in the process? And was Teddy ready? Would Daliane be there or would he have to resort to his substitute star? And what about Valeria, his female star? Had she had breakfast that morning or had she refused to eat again?

“How do I look?” he asked an assistant that walked past him and was doing a few last-bit preparations. He was suddenly worried that his suit (black and burgundy, the height of fashion at the moment) wasn’t elegant enough for an event that would be attended by the king and that there was something wrong with his hair (to him it looked as if a bird had been nestling in it).

Besides that, what if the whole play had been a terrible mistake? What if King Cassander didn’t like it? What if he didn’t like the food that Faith had cooked? What if it had been a mistake to dedicate the play to Zanik and Vri like Daliane had suggested? What if Vri thought that plays were stupid? What if …?

Where was King Cassander anyway? Was he already there? He pushed the curtain aside for a moment to see if his most important guest had already arrived before he abruptly stepped back again and turned to face his actors and musicians. It would begin any bit now …

Off Topic

Admission and seating are as follows according to the Rynmere Theatre writeup:

Admission cost- 3 gn
Balcony Seating- 10 gn
Regular seating- 5gn

If you can't or don't want to pay, send me a PM, and I'll try to arrange something. I want to give everybody a chance to participate in this event. If you are a musician, actor, cook, guard etc. you don't have to buy a ticket of course.

If you want to start a side thread related to the play or whatever happens during the play, you are welcome to do so.

[Andráska Venora]

"My two natures had memory in common."

• 96th of Vhalar, 716 Arc

Outside the theater a figure stood leaning against the walls of the structure, a thin cigarette glowing between his lips. It hissed and burned brighter, dwindling down in size as the noble it belonged to inhaled deeply. Beneath his arm was tucked a folder, its contents the bane of his existence. Andras shifted, exhaling a toxic cloud of ash grey, and rolled his shoulders. Inside, he could hear the shuffling of bodies, knowing it wouldn’t be long before the viewers arrived. Would his cousin be surprised to see he had made an early appearance?

Almost always the last to show up to any event, such a disturbance in the natural order would have surely stopped the moon from rising any other night. But Andras had a date with the only woman he loved, and she would be waiting for him. He had spent many sleepless nights since his last encounter with his cousin, the ballroom of Fort Venora weeping of insomnia and sorrow. Andráska pushed himself from the shadows and flicked the tobacco away. He watched its light dwindle and die, let out a tragic sigh, and disappeared through the door.

Madness awaited him. Bodies moved swiftly, dodging him with costumes and props in their hands. Both men and women had unfinished makeup, orders and pleas being shouted as they tugged on clothing and fixed their wigs. It was a moment of amusement for the young lord, who stood watching with a small smile before the realization of what he was about to do settled on his heart. He would be playing for Rynmere, for his countrymen. For both those who had lived and died in the war. A lightning strike of fear struck him, and he stumbled backwards, grabbing onto the nearest vanity for support. Jars of face paints and perfumes rattled, and he looked down at the paper itinerary that seemed to taunt him. It claimed the same thing the banners did, with a few extra details such as intermission time, a list of the actors. But on the front, he read his own name – something odd to him, as he usually felt like a figment of imagination in the Venora family – and then a very specific pair of names caught his eye. Great. Zanik and Vri.

No pressure.

Andras pulled away to turn and find out where his cello had been taken, but hesitated. In the mirror was a reflection of a man he hardly recognized – someone haunted and wrapped in a pretty bow. Broad shoulders were draped in rich fabric, his torso fitted nicely in a dark vest, a silk burgundy tie pointed like an arrow to his lovely and tired face. His sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows, his hair longer than it had been seasons before. It was wild, but contained, pushing back in unnatural elegance. Even his facial hair had been trimmed and fussed about, almost enough to distract ones attention from the burning green eyes lined with loneliness.

He stared for a long moment, trying to see himself. Instead he saw the outline of Alistair. His brother’s classic nobility stared back at him and he had to turn away, his heart hurting. He had not seen the eldest Venora since… since that night. Had he been wrong in running? Andras shook his head, tormented by the secrets he had been entrusted with from both of his siblings. Whether by accident or on purpose, the younger lord now held burdens with no one to share the weight of them with and kept these secrets faithfully. Even as they devoured the life within him, he guarded them ferociously.

“My lord,” a soft voice greeted. Andráska has been so deep in the memories of his family, he hadn’t even heard the servant’s footsteps approach him, “Your instrument has arrived from Fort Venora. Shall we tune it in preparation?”

‘Nadia.’

He was quick to answer, “No,” he imagined holding the stunning cello, cradling her in front of the city, gifting her voice to the world… A sickness overwhelmed him, and he reached for his pocket instinctually, blinking when he felt the inside of his vest empty. No flask or powder to save the day. He had intentionally left them behind, knowing his own vices and cursed himself now, “Bring her to me and I will do it,” he whispered, chewing his bottom lip and beginning to pace. The frantic emotions swirling around him were quickly becoming infectious, and he debated going to smoke another cigarette, “Inform Tristan I have arrived. Bring me a music stand as well,” she nodded and turned to walk away, but he lifted a hand and quickly added, “Please.”

The folder he held suddenly felt like a stone, his arms just as leaden. Andras played for himself, for his sanity. The last time he had performed for someone else – his parents – he had nearly thrown up. When the servant returned to him, he nodded vigorously and rushed after her. She led him to the stage where a dark umber cello case rested beside a chair. The sight of it made his breath catch in his throat, and he moved without remembrance, lowering himself to his knees as if bowing before the king himself.

He quickly placed the folder on the stand and with reverent hands, began undoing the clasps of the case. They gave a sharp snap, and with shaky fingers, he lifted the lid to reveal his star. Actress be damned, to Andráska, Nadia would be the one who stole the show.

An enormous red curtain still separated the amphitheater from where he sat, and would until Tristan said the word. In the meantime, he would tune his bride, allow her to settle his nervous ticks. If he didn’t stop chewing his lip soon, there wouldn’t be anything left. Having practiced ritualistically, Andras hoped he was ready. He situated Nadia’s height, placing her foot in the clay stopper on the floor and placed her tenderly between his knees. Bending over to unsheathe the bow like a sword, he started to tighten the hair and proceeded to retrieve the rosin. A few strokes, and he nodded to himself. All the anxiety that had been building within him was silencing itself, his focus being drawn to the promise of playing music. No one's listening, he told himself, letting each tuning pluck ring clear, adjusting the pegs patiently. He repeated this, alternating between his fingers and bow. Andras became picky, fusing over each string till it sent a chill through him. When he was satisfied, he leaned back, cradling Nadia’s neck in his hands. He would have to go find the others and let them know he was ready when they were.

“We can do this,” he muttered, admiring the engravings of the instrument and hoping very dearly he was right.

Off Topic

Unsure how to deduct/calculate cost for such a cello. It's fancy-schmancy, so I might even have to take out a loan for it. xD Anyway, I didn't have Andras begin the play yet (for obvious reasons), so I'm guessing I'll do that next post after everyone's settled in and ready. If anything needs to be changed, let me know.

[Faith Augustin]

96th Vhalar, 716

A Royal Tragedy.

It had taken so many breaks of work, so much concern and worry and so much stress, and all she could think in those moments as she watched everything unfolding was why call it that?! A play to which he had invited the King himself, and yet Master had seen fit to call it a Royal Tragedy. Why?! As she considered this, most carefully, she smoothed down her dress and sighed. Alright. She could do this. She could do this.

Oh, but she wasn't sure that she could do this.

The buffet was done, prepared and all there. She had made sure of it. Tasty, filling, but cold food had been the key. So, individual bite sized treats for everyone; crispbreads with soft cheese and a caremalised onion relish on top, quiche with fresh vegetables and lightly spiced chicken, skewers of prawn with a sweet chilli dip and many other things. All tasty, all well prepared but all cold on service, so that the ovens were able to deal with the meal for the King. The meal for the King? Oh by Famula but how could she do this? She had, of course, done it, and she had planned it to within an inch, because that was her way. Five courses, starting with a light salmon mousse, wrapped in fresh salmon with a dill and basil reduction. That was followed by a goats' cheese tart with red onion, then the light crab soup with freshly baked croutons before the main course. Faith had agonised over that main course, because she knew that it was the most important thing she would ever cook for Master. So, she had decided on a braised, comfit and roasted Venora lamb, encrusted in a pistachio crust and with sautéed potatoes and a medley of vegetables. All of those had gone out and now it was just the very last course, the fresh fruit pavlova with a lemon posset, raspberry coulis and home made shortbread. It was the last thing and she knew that it had all looked just about as good as she could make it look and it had certainly tasted as good as she could make it taste.

But was it good enough? She could not, would not know. Instead, sure that all of it was done, Faith made her way to the small room where her clothes and shoes were and she got changed. First, she slipped into the burgandy dress that she had made for the occassion, then she checked her make up and hair, made adjustments to the same and did her level best to ensure that she looked the most beautiful that she could. She wanted everything to be perfect for him tonight, and that included making sure that he was proud of her and what she had done. All of that done, looking the best she could, the young slave stole one more glance in the mirror and then went to find her owner. She thought it would help him if she could just very quietly touch her hand to his, looking the way that he wanted her to look and whisper "It was good food. I promise. Everyone is happy. Is there anything I can do?" And then, all she could do was hope that she wasn't lying.

[Kingdom]

The King’s carriage drew up the to the entrance pulled by four black horses. The driver waved to one of the guards stood on the back, who climbed down and opened the side door to help none other than the Empress in Rynmere down the few steps to the ground. She stood in a dress like no other, hundreds of thousands of tiny red beads threaded together to make up the outfit. A strapless dress looked to be made from thread as thin as the silk of a spider’s web, dotted with the tightly strung beads, each of them no bigger than a tiny dewdrop.
The skirt of her dress fanned out behind her on the street, a wrap of white fur held about her shoulders, matched the shoes she wore. Her ivory skin could be seen between the thin rows of beads, altering the colour of the dress somewhat. The outfit left very little to the imagination, but wasn't quite as spectacular as her hair, fashion in long, entertaining waves, the head of each dotted near the scalp with two tiny, ruby jewels, the makeshift eyes of a dozen snakes.
Cassander followed the woman from the carriage, lifted by one of the Ouroboro Guards, who held the young king steady while a second collected the man’s cane. Cassander walked with a limp, careful not to put too much weight on his healing bones. His auburn crown glowed red under the lamplight, and he walked beside the golden haired Empress, dressed in black, the lining of his cloak the same colour as the banner that hung above the door, welcoming all who entered.
A total of six Ouroboro Guards followed the pair into the building, stopping every now and then as the king or empress paused to greet people. They were dressed in white and gold, all about six foot in height and dark of mane. The pair were shown to their seats in a special box on the balcony, and presented with a lovely meal. Cassander’s food was tasted by one of the guards, and the wine poured had been his own. He could never be too cautious. Four guards stood posted at the door that led onto the special viewing platform, and the remaining two stood out of the way on the inside.
Emerson took a bite of the tart and made a content little sound. “It's wonderful food.”
Cassander did the same and swiftly agreed with her. He waved one of the guards over and asked the man to fetch the cook. “It would please me to meet him.”
The guard left the platform and made his way down to the first floor in search of the right person, while the royal enjoyed his evening meal.
“Will we get to meet the writer?” Emerson asked.
“There are a few extra seats up here, perhaps he means to join us?” Cassander wondered aloud.
“I suspect he is also the director and will need to remain backstage to ensure that everything goes as planned,” the empress smiled.
“What a shame,” Cassander said, “I do hope it's an enjoyable event.”


Rules for interacting with the king and corresponding NPCs:

I. The guard that went to fetch Faith can be jumped on the way back without her notice. Hey, you guys asked for a security breach, there's your chance.
II. Anyone who tried to enter the box will be stopped by the guards, searched for weapons, and either turned away or let in by invitation of the king only (at this stage that includes Faith and Tristan), other people who may be permitted to enter will either be nobles, or high ranking members of the Iron Hand (captain or higher).
III. Men are not allowed to look Emerson Sands (The Empress of Rynmere) in the eye. A good majority of the population believes all men who do end up cursed.

Enjoy! I know I will. Thanks for starting and organising this, Tristan.

[Odessa Andaris]

Odessa was practically dancing with excitement as she took her seat, dressed in all her silks and satins, not a speck of paint or charcoal to be seen on her pale, clear skin. Her hair was held up in an elegant twist, and sheer black gloves reached to her elbows, accentuating her long thin fingers and narrow wrists. The dress itself was beautiful, a base layer of fabric clinging to the young woman's frame, and a second layer gauzy and draping, lending an almost ethereal appearance. As was usual, the fabric was all dyed the deepest shade of black.

Across the way from the Andaris family's balconette, movement caught the young lady's attention, and she stood, moving to lean out over the theatre as she watched the King and Empress take their place. As usual the Empress was stunning, draped in the most exquisite finery, gems in her hair gleaming in the low lighting, but Odessa's attention was immediately seized by the King. A sly smile curled her plump lips and she turned to address her family, all already seated and waiting for the play to begin. "Mama, excuse me for a moment? I want to greet Cousin Daliane before he begins!" She lied easily, her smile turning sweet and innocent. Lily Andaris was already well into her fourth glass of wine, and simply waved her hand dismissively, her gaze barely leaving Odessa's father, Hector Andaris, who was dozing in his chair.

Satisfied, Odessa made her way quickly to the hall behind their booth, only to be stopped by a call from her younger sister. "Dessy, wait! I want to come too!" Turning sharply, Odessa sneered, holding out a hand to stop her younger sibling. "Go sit down at once." She scolded, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're too young, and I'm not rousing Papa to escort us down!" The younger Andaris sister pouted, opening her mouth to argue, but Odessa dismissed her with a turn and flick of her hair, hurrying away down the hall.


She didn't bother to make it look as though she were heading in search for the actors quarters, and instead made her way around the upper floor of the theatre, in the direction of the balcony seating that had faced across from her own. Odessa stopped before rounding the bend to the Kings quarters, and took the small moment to smooth her hands over her dress and check her hair. Satisfied, she made her way around the corner, back straight and head held high, making the most of what little height she had. "I am Lady Odessa Andaris." She announced imperiously to the guards outside of the King's balcony. "I'd like to extend my greetings and condolences to the King himself, if you please."

[Padraig]

Padraig walked past the building numerous times, on his way to this place or another. But he'd never been inside before. Not this one. Not any theater. The young man was serious by nature, practical minded, and entertainment on a grand scale wasn't something he tended to seek out. But Faith had told him that her master was putting on a play, that she'd be there as well, and he'd promised he'd come. He'd been so focused on his studies however that he'd neglected to reserve a ticket in advance. But no matter, when he arrived, he handed over his nels at the door. Regular seating would suit him well enough.

Not one to favor bright colors, ruffled cuffs or polished buckles; the young scholar's wardrobe was nonetheless appropriate for the evening. Polished boots, newer vest and cloak, trousers and shirt uncharacteristically wrinkle free, and free of those faint stains he could never quite get out. Shades of blue, black and gray, one could say he looked a great deal less disheveled than the norm. He'd even remembered to shave, and his dark hair wasn't nearly as rebellious as it tended to be.

The chances of him knowing anyone in attendance were slim, except for Faith, and she'd be working. But he got himself a drink, and stealing a glance up towards the balcony on the chance he'd catch a glimpse of the king, otherwise, he'd mill about with the other attendees until it was time to take their seats.

[Quio]

Quio had agreed to go to the play since Hart was most definitely going, and he didn't even put up a fuss. He knew what that had gotten him last time, though Hart was almost caught off-guard by his quiet acquiescence.

"You sure you're okay?" the seaborn asked while they got dressed. This time Quio was wearing his work clothes, slacks and a jacket with a royal blue shirt to dress it up, clothing which, all things considered, was a lot nicer than what he usually wore. Those, along with the customary sword and dagger on either side of his hip, did a lot for his appearance. Honestly it was the weapons shining elegantly by his side, both of the highest possible quality, that did the most to dress him up.

"You look like a body guard," Hart sighed, donning the same suit he had worn to the ball but augmented even further with Quio's ridiculously fancy vest. It fit him nicely. He was combing back his hair.

"And you look like Tristan Venora," Quio murmured.

"I know." Hart sighed again. "Usually I don't care, but tonight it's a problem. I don't want to steal his thunder."

"You won't," Quio assured him quietly.

Hart eyed the Yludih, no doubt concerned about how subdued the other was acting, but then his expression softened. "And you? Are you going to behave yourself tonight?"

"Yes," Quio said honestly.

"And you're sure you want to go like that?" Indicating Quio's presence, not what he was wearing. Hart was asking if he'd rather skip any potential fallout and wear his other face.

It would be easier that way. He would be a stranger to everyone in the theater. Quio had considered it.

"I'm okay," he murmured instead, and off they went.

---

They had never gone to a play before, at least not one this acclaimed, and so hadn't known that they were supposed to get tickets well in advance. Hart nearly had a heart attack on the doorstep before they realized there were still some seats left. They were ushered inside to a line that lead up to a counter, where they purchased not only a ticket, but also the right to even be in the building at all. Hart shrugged his shoulders as he handed over their admissions cost, and then, perhaps sensing that something was going to start soon enough, they quickly found their seats among the lower echelon.

"But I wanted to greet Tristan before the play and wish him good luck," Hart said mournfully as they found their places and settled in. Quio looked around somewhat apprehensively at all the people, especially at the extra guards and the balconies that seemed to hold the rich and high-ranking. "Do you think Tristan's up there?" Hart asked, following his gaze.

"I don't know," Quio admitted, and then they waited. The theater was slightly dim, and Hart put his head on Quio's shoulder and turned towards him, intertwining their arms comfily. He was good at hiding it, but Quio knew better; the other often sought physical contact when he was nervous.

"Don't worry," Quio reassured him, and the seaborn sighed once more.

"Tristan Venora?" someone asked from the nearest aisle, reaching over to shake Hart's hand, and the lookalike smiled but said softly, "No, I'm just the body-double. I do hope you enjoy the performance."

Off Topic

cost of admissions (x2) = -6.0.0gn
cost of regular seating (x2) = -10.0.0gn
TOTAL = -16.0.0gn

"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"

[Daliane Andaris]

Daliane's head rested against the glass window of the carriage as he thought about his role in this play. A part of him did not feel ready despite all that he had been through. Everything he had done thus far was for this very role; the sacrifices he made, the charade he had been putting on for sometime now. It was all so he could play the king well.

In the midst of becoming a better actor, he neglected to interact with Tristan and assure him that he was more than willing to star in his play. This is a mistake on his behalf and he hoped the lord was not quick to replace him. Otherwise, he worked hard and put on airs for no reason. Daliane's presence at the theatre would also be an absolute embarrassment too. First queen, have mercy on me. He thought as he quickly looked up at the beautiful sky. Tristan, do not lose faith in me either.

"miu ndan prince, dẹọdọ ies kawtu?"

A strong hand gripped his thigh and Daliane turned his attention to the gorgeous Sev'ryn beside him. Alufa was smiling while looking down on Daliane and he returned the favor with a slight blush. The large man looked his best tonight, truly representing the nickname Daliane gave him. He wore a silk silver suite with accessories the color white and shiny black shoes that looked as if they cost a fortune. Alufa's long shiny black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and his beard was trimmed too.

Daliane licked his lips and winked. The actions serving as a compliment. "I am fine." Daliane said and quickly grabbed the hand gripping his thigh. "Just very much excited. This is the beggining of my stardom." The half Sev'ryn raised his other hand and swiped it across the air as he spoke. "I will be bigger than any other actor in Rynmere. I will be so big, even the Immortals will know my name. Idalos will know me also. My name will be heard in many different languages. Wait on it." He crossed his legs and gave a smug look. The boy's act had become very much believeable at this point. Even he believed it.

"dav takip ọkan anou riches ọsïsẹ jama'a inan anou ts'unulhbuz. ke’u hìtua syayvi longer steftxaw tä pataki iwọnotu ke’ua slosneppe. ke’u hìtua syayvi longer steftxaw anou srer andaris." Alufa freed his hand from Daliane's so he could grab his chin, softly rubbing it.

Daliane leaned in for a kiss but could not go through with it. The carriage finally made it to the theatre and the crowd that waited outside of it was amazing.

"Oh my."

Alufa led Daliane out of the carriage and to the front doors of Rynmere Theatre where the two parted ways. Alufa would take a seat on the balcony while Daliane headed toward the stage. There he would find Tristan and the rest of the cast waiting.
"I'm back." He announced his arrival on stage.

Common-Xanthea

[Sintih]

Excitement. That was the name of the feeling that had died when Sintih's Steward finished talking about his first royal assignment as a member of the Iron Hand. It had all started of quite well with Sintih eagerly applying himself for the job. Being part of the Iron Hand as they protected the king, it didn't get better than that. Sin had been proud of himself in that moment, standing in formation with all the other squires, listening to the captain explain their task for the evening. Some sort of play was being premiered at the theater and security had been increased to account for the presence of the King. And any event the king attended most likely included every other member of nobility that thought themselves important enough to be here, which usually meant all of them.

Once he had been assigned, Sin had patiently listened to what his Warden had to say. His speech wasn't bad but nothing Sin hadn't heard before. His father had been a good storyteller back in the day but he had this irritating knack for recalling speeches and conversations in their entirety. It seemed that in sixteen arcs, nothing much had changed in the military. Sure, some of the words were different but in the end the underlying message, or command, was the same. 'Protect the king, use your own life to do so if you must. The king is important, you are not. But don't die because recruitment is a hassle.' That's what they meant, in a nutshell. It only took them half a break to explain that, though. He'd been assigned to a steward under a captain after that.

When the captain rolled out a map of the part of the city the theater was in, Sin had gotten excited. This was what he was good at. Maps, strategizing, coming up with an air tight division of forces. This was element. When the captain explained how they had been assigned the back entry of the theater, Sin's excitement overcame his disappointment. He had followed his Steward gladly as the captain divided his tiny army in half. It hadn't even bothered him that much when they had told him to 'do as he was told' rather than provide them with some of his experience on the subject. It was only right at the end when his name was brought up and the Steward put his finger at the end of the street leading to the back entrance that Sin had felt his excitement shatter. He had been stationed at the complete outer perimeter of their assigned area.

With a click of his tongue, Sin pulled himself from his memories. He kicked a small rock away from him before turning to look down the street towards the back entrance of the theater. He couldn't even read the somewhat large sign above it from here, that's how far he was from the actual building. The noise coming over the houses from the theater told him that people had been arriving out front for some time now but back here it was empty. Clicking his tongue again, Sin turned to look in the opposite direction, trying to spot some sort of threat. Apart from the street he was guarding, this was nothing more than alleys coming together.

To prevent himself from stiffening up, Sintih started rolling his shoulders underneath his armor, the leather creaking as he moved. It was heavy, hot and got in the way of just about anything he tried to do. He didn't understand how anyone fought in this. Moving his hands from his shoulders down his front to his belt, Sin adjusted the leather armor underneath his tabard, smoothed out the purple and white fabric that identified him as a squire of Gawyne and hooked one thumb between the fabric of his tunic and the belt buckle with the scales imprinted on it. His left hand rested on the hilt of his own short sword. He hoped someone high up the chain had brains enough to bring in the King from the back, away from the crowd of potential death out front. If only he got so lucky. Sin stifled a yawn as he went back to scanning for killers, conspirators, assassins and other rebel types.

(Continued in: By Royal assignment)

[Elyna]

There was something magical about waiting in the theatre. The whisper of patrons as they took their seats. The building hush of anticipation. Everyone was dressed in their finery which meant that the crowd was a sea of burgundy and black. Elyna had taken considerable care over her own appearance. Something that hadn’t occurred to her since the day of her illegitimate marriage to Malcolm. The skirt she’d worn at the Burhan ball was a deep burgundy velvet and most importantly, it was warm. Her waist was held in by corsetry that sat above a pale shirt. The long sleeves dropped over her wrists and covered part of her hands, but they’d been rolled back, business like, to the elbow.
In one hand she gripped a glass of fine white wine and the other she balanced a selection of tiny tartlets. Wide brown eyes studied the other guests as they arrived. Faith had vanished shortly after their arrival and the Skyrider could understand her concern. Tristan, she could only imagine was anxious for the proceedings to go without a hitch. The young woman laid the little treats out on the balcony row in front of herself. This was far better than a seat at the arena. Hopefully, at least, no one was going to die.
Her heart jumped in little excited beats as she watched the royal dignitaries take their own position. She sank back into whatever shadows the torches allowed her and took a long sip of wine. The fingers she extended for the next delicious morsel, shook. Inevitably, the pastry was knocked from the balcony and sent spinning onto the head of a spectator below. The Skyrider lent forward, horrified and as though she could somehow stop the food from falling. To no avail. Her actions merely sent a large slosh of wine following the cheese and onion tartlet, followed by no less than three other delicacies.
Her innocent victim, would have seen a pair of horrified brown eyes and a mouth left open in shock before a hurried whisper, “sorry! Oh! I’m so sorry!” before she retreated once more. She collected the final two pastries that she’d managed to secret on her person and pushed them into her mouth, determined that no more accidents would happen.
There was a long, hard look from the noble lady that sat in the adjoining seat and Elyna sank back further. It was in that moment that she missed Malcolm. She found herself wondering if he’d have found the whole incident hilarious, or maybe he would have caught the first pastry before it fell? Maybe he could of held them and helped her smuggle more in her hands…or would he have joined the older Andaris with the disapproving look?
Her cheeks burnt a furious red and she took another sip of wine. Her attention focused on the stage and the sway of the velvet curtain. There was the hum of tuning instruments and she gripped the glass a little tighter. She sent a silent prayer to Vri and Zanik, that all would go well for Venora. He’d proved to be a good friend, and a good man. She wanted the best for him and Faith.