[center] [h1] _______________ [color=FFD187]◊ ɛʟɨֆɛօ ʀɦǟʋɛʊֆ ◊[/color] _______________[/h1][/center] [right][sub] __________________ • ȶɦɛ քʟǟռɛֆ - ɛʟօաɛռ • ɛʟօաɛռ քǟʟǟƈɛ ɢʀօʊռɖֆ • 5:13pm __________________ [/sub][/right] Eli squinted in the sunlight as he strode out onto the grand palace drive, robes snapping behind him as the ever-present breeze whipped up into a stiff spring evening wind. The sun was far from setting, but it loitered around the horizon nonetheless, casting long shadows and letting just a touch of wintry chill return to the air. Its rays shone coppery against the myriad patterns of Eli’s layered silk robes, the fabric all but glowing in brilliant reds, greens, and golds. His outermost layer, a fine silk cloak in emerald green, sported shining gold embroidery that moved across its surface like the wind rippling over the grasslands, the pattern changing direction as the wind did. “His Grace, the High Artificer to see you, Your Royal--” [color=87FFD1]“You’re [i]late,”[/i][/color] a chilly voice cut the herald short as Eli approached, followed closely by the sound of feet crunching on gravel. [i]I could say the same about you,[/i] Eli thought sourly, though now at least he could see why. Laid out before him on the palace drive was a fantastical display: a splendid coach wrought in fine Planes woodwork, flamboyantly decorated with banners and pennants and drawn by six spectacular white horses. Horses and coach alike were blazoned with proud images of burning orange marigolds trimmed in gold on fields of verdant green: the symbol of the royal house of Elowen. The marigolds glowed like fire in the slanting sun, and the gold trimmings on the horses’ kit clinked as the beasts fidgeted under their burden, stamping long, elegant legs and tossing chiseled heads crowned with tall ostrich feathers dyed all colours of the rainbow. [color=FFD187]“I was ready in the audience chamber to transport us at five,”[/color] Eli corrected, crossing his arms. [color=FFD187][i]“You[/i] didn’t show up.”[/color] Eli’s cousin Ernesto walked out of the shadow of the coach looking thoroughly inconvenienced and a little insulted. He had a similar, willowy build to Eli, but the similarities ended there; he was a good few inches taller and dramatically lighter in complexion, with cold green eyes that glinted out from under a head of almost-curly blond hair. He looked smart in a bright orange vest and white cotton tunic, secured snugly around the waist by a broad, colourful sash full of exquisite goldwork and dripping with little silver bells that jingled as he walked. Much like the horses, Eli noted. [color=87FFD1][i]“You[/i] said ‘audience chamber,’ not me,”[/color] Ernesto spat back, gesturing behind him. His short green cape snapped back from his shoulder as he moved, and the gold coronet atop his head glittered in the evening sun. [color=87FFD1]“Forgive me if I didn’t think this would fit.”[/color] Eli came up with a dozen cutting remarks in an instant, but remembered his mother’s warning. [i]Like it or not, you’re going to have to find a way to get along eventually.[/i] Instead, he guarded his tongue behind the same thin, patronizing smile that was all the rage among the nobles these days. [color=FFD187]“I see. Shall I transport us, then?” [/color] [color=87FFD1]“Start getting it ready,”[/color] Ernesto replied dismissively, returning his attention to the coach. [color=87FFD1]“There are just a few more things to get together here before we leave.”[/color] The “few more things” included a second coach for Eli (heavens forfend the not-quite-Crown-Prince [i]share[/i] a coach), an open-top carriage dedicated to luggage, a small contingent of royal guards in full marigold livery (some mounted, others on foot), two bannermen, and even a team of tall, stately dalmatians to accompany the carriages. Eli fought not to roll his eyes as Ernesto assembled his entourage. Far be it from him to criticize pomp and circumstance, but this was clearly a level beyond - it seemed that Ernesto was already enjoying his first excursion as a royal representative a little [i]too[/i] much. In fact, Eli suspected this was probably still a more modest entrance than Ernesto would have preferred. Instead, he turned his attention to his preparations. Eli had been expecting to transport two people to Aethelguard, not a small invasion, but it was nothing outside of his comfort zone. However, it didn’t go as smoothly as he would prefer; Aethelguard’s mage must have employed some Dowsing magic, because every time Eli tried to form a link near, but outside of the palace, he was redirected onto the palace grounds. [color=FFD187]“I can only get us as far as the gate of the royal city,”[/color] Eli reported, arms outstretched toward the idyllic countryside. With a sweep of his arms, the scenery changed. A split formed in the very air before them, drawing the rolling hills back like a set of massive curtains to reveal an entirely different scene: the capital of Aethelguard bathed in sunlight, the palace flanked by the tall white masts of ships in the harbour beyond. Warm, salty air wafted through the portal carrying the shrill cries of seagulls. Ernesto turned from his preparations and recoiled, momentarily alarmed by the rift in reality before him. He recovered quickly, though, masking his embarrassment under a practiced look of dignified superiority. [color=87FFD1]“Very well. Let’s be off then.”[/color] Eli and Ernesto boarded their separate carriages, and the captain of the guard called out orders, all involved falling neatly into line. The horses stamped and snorted, unafraid of the magic, and surged forward when bidden into the rift. [center][color=FFD187]~ /// ~[/color][/center] [right][sub] __________________ • ȶɦɛ քʟǟռɛֆ - ǟɛȶɦɛʟɢʊǟʀɖ • ǟɛȶɦɛʟɢʊǟʀɖ ʀօʏǟʟ քǟʟǟƈɛ - ɮǟռզʊɛȶ ɦǟʟʟ • 6:30pm __________________ [/sub][/right] Prince Ernesto’s arrival elicited exactly the fanfare Eli assumed his cousin had been hoping for. Materializing at the royal city gates, the caravan of the Elowen delegation attracted crowds as it navigated toward the palace, commoners lining the streets and huddling in windows to watch as the caravan lumbered by. Marigold banners snapped in the wind as they went, the guardsmen’s armour gleaming in the evening sun. The horses put on a magnificent display, marching in unison with as much skill as the soldiers on foot alongside them - no less than expected of the country that bred the finest horses in the realm. And all the while, Ernesto sat in his coach looking proud and lofty, eyes resolutely forward even as he allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk. For his part, Eli wasn’t much different. He was no stranger to extravagance, and certainly wasn’t self conscious about it; his main qualm with the choice to make a proper formal entrance was the number of formal introductions he was going to have to make when they arrived. However, to his genuine surprise, the arrival was fairly painless. Their reception at the palace was a warm one, of course, as would be expected from Elowen’s closest ally, but it consisted entirely of servants who rushed to take their luggage and show them to their apartments and otherwise cater to their every need. The King, Queen, and even the Royal Mage of Aethelguard were as yet nowhere to be found. It was a profound relief to Eli that he could put off hobnobbing for even a few extra minutes on a trip that already threatened to fray his nerves, but Ernesto was decidedly less pleased. Insulted, even. [color=87FFD1]“They drag us here on three days’ notice like mercenaries and then shuffle us between servants like sheep,”[/color] he’d complained to Eli, not quite quietly enough not to be overheard. Eli kept his own suspicions to himself, mostly just appeasing his cousin with smiles and nods and vague statements of agreement until they were summoned to the banquet hall. As soon as he crossed the threshold, however, Eli went from feeling vaguely convenienced to on edge. No sooner had he stepped through the door than the breath seemed to go out of him; the pattern on his cloak stopped moving, and his many robes hung limp, where before they had been subtly swaying in an otherwise unfelt breeze. More importantly, the gem around his neck, usually pulsing with faint amber light, went dark, feeling cold and heavy and still against his chest. Whatever it was seemed to go unnoticed by Ernesto as he immediately launched into socializing, but Eli looked around the hall with newly sharpened eyes, paying close attention to every detail. Aethelguard’s royal mage had put some kind of binding ward on the room. Not a permanent hex, surely - that would probably amount to an act of war. But something to dampen the power of every mage in attendance, to even the odds. If he didn’t know any better (and at this point, he didn’t), Eli might think they’d been summoned to something contentious. His eyes fell on the Royal Mage himself. Serrelian D’Vyrens, if memory served. Eli had met him on several occasions as a teenager, part of his annual visits to his mother’s Aethelguard villa. They’d talked more than once, the older man seeking him out to discuss magic. He was friendly enough, personable enough, but every conversation had always felt like a play following a particular script. Nothing was left to chance, nothing was organic, nothing was [i]ever[/i] an accident. Now, in this room, the whole world was forced to follow his script. The guests weren’t kept waiting long. The king’s brash arrival did elicit an elitist look from Ernesto, but neither delegate of Elowen was surprised; the king of Aethelguard’s… unorthodox demeanour was a common object of rumour in Elowen, where nobody of any status would ever even think to behave so coarsely. But the news that followed sobered both of them, and each sat quietly for a long moment when Serrelian finished his address, the weight of the situation settling heavily on them. An underground organization of mages seeking to harm the crown. Eli supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. It was no secret that mages chafed under the Artifice laws of Elowen and its equivalents across the realm, but they rarely put up much resistance. Untrained mages were more a danger to themselves than anyone else, and the only way to get training was to apprentice under the High Artificer, bound either to serve the Crown or be turned out on the shortest of leashes, never far from watchful eyes. Rejects usually faded into obscurity. [color=FFD187]“What dang--”[/color] Eli began, but was quickly interrupted by Ernesto’s hand jutting out in front of him. [color=87FFD1]“--We will perform a sweep immediately,”[/color] Ernesto interjected, shooting Eli a burning glare. [color=87FFD1]“If any of this filth has infested Elowen, it [i]will[/i] be scrubbed out.” [/color] Eli looked at his cousin quizzically for a moment, but Ernesto did not look back at him again. He looked like he’d just had to scold a page that spoke out of turn at court, and was trying not to make a further scene about it. Eli drummed his fingers on his leg, the many rings on his fingers clicking together. What on earth was his problem? [color=FFD187]“...And to His Royal Highness’ end,”[/color] Eli tried again, looking skeptically between his cousin and Serrelian before continuing, [color=FFD187]“exactly what danger does this group pose? Have they committed any magical attacks in addition to this attempted poisoning?”[/color] [center][color=FFD187]~ /// ~[/color][/center] [right][@Ducksworth][/right]