| Background from Backgrounds Paradise |
| These three are standing at the Ryslen Flurry |
| Noise. It washed over him like a balm against the cold isolation that he had endured earlier, thinking that that was the only way to survive the world that he was left facing now. He paused to one side of the entrance, sweeping silver eyes over the massive gathering that filled and overfilled the Great Hall, flowing out into the large adjoining rooms that were connected by huge double doors. Everything was decked in evergreen boughs and the golden branches of a tree that only grew high upon the many cliffs that were scattered through the land. A roaring fire crackled and popped in the huge fireplace at one end of the Great Hall, but was, for all its fury, drowned out by the happy banter and hum of so many voices speaking at once. Brightly colored, as if to mock the pure whiteness of the snow that covered everything outside in a pristine blanket, every bit of clothing that he saw was vibrant and well made, the winter finery of every family that was invited, with each piece made painstakingly by hand by the wearer, male or female. He almost didn’t recognize Eltoln when the man swept up to him, decked out in deep blue and green clothes that flowed about him like water. Embroidery of flaxen gold danced over the cloth, forming traditional patterns from his own country, of sickle moons around sheaves of wheat marching across the borders of the green cloth, of small stars of warm gold scattered across the deep blue, of the half legendary Iylla leaf, the leaf of the tree that all life had sprung from, according to Eltoln’s people, edging the blue cloth. But what was more, Eltoln’s shoulder-blade length silvery white hair, which he normally kept in a tight tail at the nape of his neck, was up and braided, one braid starting at each temple and meeting at the back of his head. The braids had ribbons of green and blue woven through them, adding eye catching bits of color to the otherwise colorless head of hair. The deep blue eyes sparked with amusement, the tiny specks of white within their depths seeming to glitter like the stars in the heavens, “Aveltol, you look wonderful tonight.” Realizing only then that he had been staring at his old friend, he shook his head sharply, “As do you, I’ve never seen you in such finery before.” “What, this worthless thing?” Eltoln spread his arms and smiled, “This is nothing compared to the things I used to wear in the old court. But I find this much more agreeable to my comfort. After all, I am no longer the spry young man that could withstand hours of standing with a perfectly straight back, laced into a suit of clothing tighter and heavier than my armor, all to show off for the women.” He couldn’t help it, he had to laugh. Eltoln had been almost completely mute as to what his old life had been like, before he had switched sides to join them in their fight against his former lord. But what little he had told was almost always been somehow disparaging of the court he was formerly a part of, stories of how this lady or that lord had tried out a new style, only to fail miserably, to the amusement of the entire court, or stories of the various power plays within the court that had backfired, or certain members that seemed to be cursed with nothing but bad luck, no matter what they tried. “I think this, if nothing else, would have convinced me to leave the old court,” Eltoln continued, a sweep of his hand including the entire gathering into his meaning. Aveltol glanced out yet again at the gathering, conscious finally of how truly untraditional it was. Farmers and commoners stood side by side with the few people that had established themselves as nobles in the newly formed country. Two of his sisters were out there in the mass, courting and being courted by noble and commoner alike. His other sister, Eltoln’s wife, was the ruler of the country, with Eltoln as her consort… and it had been –she– that had proposed to the man, not the other way around. No, the other countries in the world looked down upon their small, newly formed country. Too untraditional, too outspoken in their ways… and far too tied to the farmers and commoners that inhabited their land. He couldn’t help but smile at what he had helped create, before striding further into the mass of humanity that filled the three rooms of the Great Hall. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________ Eltoln eyed his old friend out of the corner of his eye as he followed along in the man’s wake. Already Aveltol looked better than he had a mere week ago, his silver eyes fairly glowed with life once more, looking more like the brightest of new minted silver, instead of the tarnished patina of the most ancient of metal. Long, platinum blond hair reached easily to the Knight Captain’s hips, unbound and unrestrained, with not even a token circlet to proclaim his rank or attempt to hold his hair back. To his great relief, Aveltol had discarded the icy colors that he had so loved during the war, and, seemingly along with that, his cold and rather emotionless demeanor. The man seemed to radiate warmth and happiness now, and with amusement Eltoln realized that to call his friend Aveltol of Winter’s Heart was no longer the truest of statements. In place of the icy colors, he now wore a warm, vibrant red, with fiery orange and yellow embroidery tracing patterns across the red cloth that he had trouble interpreting. Everything about this small country’s habits, from how they worshipped to what they wore and ate at certain times, had a measure of symbolism that his own culture did not have. Osanasi had attempted to teach the culture to him, with a patient hand and an amused smile, but he found himself nearly as lost as he had been from the very start, and very much in awe of all the lore that these people took for granted. From the golden branches to the brilliant orange leaves that everyone seemed to wear at least one of somewhere about their person, it all carried symbolism of some sort or another. A tall, lithe man brushed past him, accompanied by an equally tall and slim woman. Their incredibly pale skin and the lightness with which they moved labeled them instantly as pure vampires to him. That, too, he had had to grow used to, once he had decided to switch sides and join Aveltol’s small army. Three clans lived within the lands that Aveltol now claimed belonged to the A’vredons, and all three clans were as open and welcoming to humans as anyone could wish, and the humans were just as welcoming in kind. The entire land was a hotbed of partial vampires, men and women that perhaps had a vampire parent, or ancestor somewhere in their family line, and all boasted proudly of that fact. It was no shame in this land to claim relationship to one of the clans… And it all washed by him in a rush that had taken his breath away at first. Now, though, he simply… accepted. By the Abyss, he had even met one of the legendary Drak’om-kars, and lived to tell the tale, he could deal with a few vampires. They at least looked and talked like humans. Elsewhere in the room danced and moved two of Aveltol’s sisters, both of them confident that they would find mates of their own choosing, and equally confident that the match would be one of love, and not necessity. The atmosphere of the entire gathering was one of relief and of celebration. The war was over completely and forever, against all odds they had won, had survived and were now their own independent country. In the minds of many, the matter had been settled with all of the fighting almost three decades ago, but as the Consort of the High Lord – Osanasi had refused to be called a High Lady despite the fact that she was a woman, and Aveltol had backed her, arguing that the title was that of the position, and had no bearing on the gender of the holder – Eltoln knew better. There had been even more fighting… fighting with words this time, and not weapons, but equally as deadly. But it was all over finally. They were an acknowledged country, and they had an armistice with all the countries around them, to last a full century at the least. And with that… he and Aveltol were more than simply at loose ends… they were relics. Aveltol had no children, and had shown no real interest in finding a partner. He, on the other hand, had three, two of which were reaching their twentieth winter with this Winter Solstice. A tug on his sleeve drew his attention away from his thoughts, and he looked over to see who it was that wanted his attention. Odd colored eyes met his own, and he instantly recognized his youngest child. No other in the entire country seemed to have such eyes, one was a soft sea green while the other was a deep sea blue, and both were flecked with brightest white, like sunlight on clear water. Bright, flame red hair reached the child’s shoulders, each strand filled with curls even tighter than Osanasi’s, making him wonder how long his son’s hair would be if it were straight. Slowly widening wings of silver had begun to creep through the flaming locks despite the child’s mere fifteen years of life, a trait that he had surely inherited from his father. He wore an outfit very similar to what his uncle wore, except instead of fiery red, his chosen colors were a soothing sea green, with blue embroidery. “Mom wants you and Uncle in the back room, Dad, she says its important.” Eltoln smiled faintly, “Thanks, Lunesi. I’ll get you Uncle, and then we’ll go see what your Mom wants.” Lunesi nodded his acceptance of that as his father slipped off, weaving expertly through the crowd, leaving not even a ripple behind him. |