Co-written with @PrinceOfHeaven [b][u]A Feast for Kings[/u][/b] As the week rolled along, the stronghold of Mirador was bustling. As a holding controlled by the enigmatic Order of the Knights Solanian, a great many of its citizens were soldiers of the Order themselves, drilling for the imminent arrival of their Grandmaster. Those who did not fight for the Order but served it passively went about preparing the décor, casting banners down the walls of the city and stringing up ribbons around the city exterior. Alternatively, farmers worked to gather food for the night's feast, for the harvest ran concurrent with it. Within the stony keep, Seneschal Konstantin Hristov sat upon his throne, surrounded by his advisors. His central priority at the time was ensuring that Mirador was in perfect condition for his Grandmaster and his chosen Apostles; the Illyrican Order had a remarkable track record thus far, and Hristov had no intentions of tainting it tonight. To his right stood a wizened Priest of Solanius, draped in the white and gold of the order. The priest had been reading the castletown's ledger to him for many minutes now, and it was beginning to feel more like hours. Eventually, the Seneschal found the confidence in him that everything was accounted for, and that minor errors could be overlooked. "Father Rosenveld, I do so sincerely thank you for your time, but I am almost certain that we have all of our supplies in order; the oil for our lanterns is plentiful, the wine varied and abundant, and the meat and bread are all fresh," he said, somewhat tiredly. He gave every impression that he had heard the list before, though that had only been a brief summary of the fully detailed ledger's contents. "My Lord?" asked the priest, slowly closing the book. "By now it is pointless to continue checking and checking so compulsively," said the Seneschal, rising from his throne. "The Grandmaster is a merciful man, I know him; he is not one to chastise for something minor, so long as we have what is necessary." He walked down the steps of his throne's platform and turned to his advisors. "And while we concern ourselves with something we know our citizens both noble and common can provide, why have we not considered who will be in attendance? Did not the knights under Captain Jorleifsson mention that they had encountered a couple of persons of considerable interest to the Order not long ago?" "My Lord... the feast is open attendance, as suggested by the Grandmaster himself. Apart from him, knowing who our guests are strikes us as paltry, no?" asked the Seneschal's steward, a middle-aged, fairly scrawny Sun Elf. Lord Hristov put a hand to his face and shook his head. "Captain Jorleifsson spoke of their valour, Sanyriil," he said, looking up at his steward, "Whereas it takes most basilisk hunters small warbands to properly kill the things, these two did it alone! He requested to me what I will request of the Grandmaster: that the two heroes and their entourage receive an audience with our leader." He took his hand away from his face and began pacing back and forth. "Now, in a show of proper respect and hospitality to these guests of honor, I fully recommend an escort -- nay, I order one." He turned to one of his knights, who stood at the base of one of the pillars lining the great hall. "See to it they arrive before the others." With a salute, the knight turned and proceeded out of the castle hall... [hr][/hr] Ceara spurred her horse towards the open gates of Mirador, taking a long look at the streets in front of her. The city had been built in the barren valley of a rocky canyon, with natural walls protecting it on all sides. A narrow river split the settlement in two, winding past the hill and continuing south, through the craggy formations. Buildings rose around a hilly centre in the shadow of the crag, on which the mighty castle of Mirador was raised so many years ago. The castle itself was large enough to house a sizeable garrison, and as was clear from the streamers and banners all over the city, a sizeable feast as well. The holy sun flew in every window, knights clothed in blue and white at every street. Nima rode behind his friend, cloaked from head to toe in his polished armour. Steel plates were wrapped around his midsection, his arms, and his legs. The rest of his body was covered with finely made chain mail, all the way up to his forehead. His headpiece was distinctly eastern, a steel helmet that rose to a point that was distinguished with two red ribbons. He one hand on the sword sheathed on his saddle, and another carrying a shield that bore the red triangle of Sindhus. The thief from Cainleath was no exception. Her attire was particularly festive - she was dressed in a showy blue tunic, with matching breeches and stockings. With a feathered cap on her head, and curled shoes on her feet, she certainly looked the part of a minstrel. She waved to the guards at the city walls, singing a fond hello as she dismounted. “Hello, valiant knights! I am Aerona of Cadwalader, a travelling minstrel! If it pleases the honourable lord, I would offer my service as a bard for your virtuous gathering! Is there a place myself and my shining companion could rest our horses?” Four guards clad in plate armor, each wielding halberds, stood watch at the main gate at ground level, as archers stood watch along the ramparts. Though they had been ordered to allow travellers into the city, the sight of the bard's heavily armed and armoured companion warranted caution; all four guards lowered their halberds, pointing them at the duo. One of the guards, a shadow elf of considerable height, inched forward and began to speak for his patrol. "We weren't aware that we'd be joined by a Furusiyya of the Flame," he growled. "So you're supposedly a bard," he said to Ceara, then turning to Nima, "You, state your business!" Nima turned his head slowly, blankly regarding at the commander of the patrol. “My life for Aerona of Cadwalader. My sword for her enemies, my shield for her protection.” Ceara beamed, glancing back at the holy knight. “I know it must be strange to have a man such as he in this hallowed place, but my guard no longer fights for the Path of Flame. The story is long, but fortunately, it can be told through [i]song[/i]!” Reaching into her saddlebag, the thief removed a finely crafted lute, and began strumming “[i]When Nima was in Rosiland… Let my Nima goooo…[/i]” Minstrels were always total hams, but something about this one seemed odd. Skeptically lifting his halberd, he kept his eyes trained on the furusiyya and his ears on the bard. Ok, play the song. This sounded like an original. Ceara dramatically swept her fingers across every string, letting the sound hang in the air for a few moments before raising her voice again. "Allow me to begin." She cleared her throat. [i]"Twas the dark of night, in the dark of year, Two armies stood locked, facing so gravely, Twas the time of fire, the grand smell of fear, Who but the son of a sun, rallied so bravely, One man lies dying, left fallen for his fate, A man for the fire, but now for the dirt, One man lies dying, but never too late, A bard most heroic, now he does not hurt, Fire and music, together in journey, Come to bring song to most every tourney!"[/i] Each guard placed their halberds under their arm, giving the bard a round of brief, subtle applause, their gauntlets clanking together with each clap. Her ballad completed, Ceara lowered her lute, grinning arrogantly as she glanced between each of the guards. "You are too kind. Is my story clear now? I suppose I could explain in words, if you're truly-" "Wait, no, that won't be necessary," one of the other guards said, looking back and forth between her companions. The wood elf grinned knowingly and gave the bard a once-over. "You were there at the Battle of Klyesha, that plantation up in Rosiland?" she asked. "Then that means we missed one," said the shadow elf, pointing his halberd again at Nima. "Stand down, Tirunil. He doesn't work with them anymore, he serves the bard. Let them pass," said a third guard, a brawny human encased fully in a slightly stronger set of armor. "Apologies on behalf of the squire, Miss. He's new. Right this way, please." "No apologies required, noble knights. After this celebration, I believe I shall make a song about your victories in Iurusolym." She steadied her steed, with Nima following suit. Ceara patted her horse, looking to the guard that had spoken recently. "Could you handle our mounts? If not, point us in the right direction? I cannot rightly bring a horse into the keep. Or... It may add a certain element to my performance..." "Not... necessary," said the human, shaking his helmeted head. "Continue on horseback through the city, the stables are beside the smithy. Old Alvar makes plenty of horseshoes and barding for our mounts, so proximity is only natural. The smithy, for reference, is a large, dark-coloured stone building in the market square. You should be able to smell the forge. The stables are behind it, technically part of the same property, walled up in what would be the house's garden. Take them up to the iron gate, it should be open during business hours, drop them off in the yard." "And you simply must try some of Madalen's... what does she call it, that stuff she found in Ciprius, the wine with the lemons, dates, and honey?" asked the wood elf, turning to the human. The shadow elf, "Tirunil," interjected. "Well the Savarids call it qatarmizat, I think Madalen and Alvar just call it lemonwine, it's that simple." Smacking herself in the forehead (clank), the wood elf nodded and corrected herself. "Madalen's lemonwine, yes. Try a mug before you head for the keep!" "That we will, friends. Well, my guard does not drink. I shall drink two mugs for him!" She moved her horse forward, leaving the patrol behind as they moved farther into the city. Ceara slowed, letting Nima take a position beside her. "Fuck the lemonwine," she remarked, whispering harshly. "We're getting into the keep as soon as possible. I'll sing a few songs, you'll stand behind me, and when the crowd starts to get bigger, we'll slip away." Nima examined his surroundings. "You should have killed that bard. He'll be in Viarosa in a few hours." Ceara frowned, looking down at her saddle. "We already talked about this. We tied him up, left him on the road. That should keep him occupied for tonight at the least. I'm not going to just..." She glanced up again, clearing her thoughts. "Lets focus on the task at hand, alright? No point worrying about what's done." The duo rode in silence the rest of the way, trotting through the city with the mighty keep looming in the distance. They stopped at the stable, releasing their horses with a smile and a song, and journeying the rest of the way on foot.