Open Chronicles A Soiree of Sinners

[Mirriel Alleur]

The sky painted various shades of vidi red, amber, and towards the trailing edge of day, violet and black. Spring was in full swing here in Alliria, the sweet scent of growing things filling the air and hiding the more unpleasant odors of the city. No matter the time of year, no matter where within her bountiful walls, there was always the faint scent of the Shallows, of the bay, and of tens of thousands of souls living in close proximity. The scent was of a faint, almost invisible corruption.

A convenient allegory, that.

Despite the retreating daylight, the Alleur estate was well lit. Lime lights cast brilliance upon the graveled drive that came in from the streets, the gates in the walls thrown wide for the evenings spectacle. Roses and tamed bushes lined the drive, climbing roses twined their way up the gleaming granite walls that surrounded the four acre plot in the heart of Alliria, in the Inner City. Capped by wicked spikes of wrought iron, the walls held the city out like the fortress it was meant to imitate.

The building itself was a splendid affair, two stories of dressed limestone and granite, cunningly fitted together to hide and seems. The whole thing was intricately carved in whorls an d designed round base, corner, and eve; windows bore planters with profusions of color to contrast against the stark white of the stone. Everywhere was finery, rich and not shy about flaunting itself; the drive, the front of the home, the gardens that flanked the structure with their winding paths and hedges for privacy, all lit by lime light and mirror. And in back, a raised gazebo towards the back of the spacious space held musicians, their violins and flutes and other such accoutrements plying their trade, filling the air with a festive, reserved music.

Indoors, there were the hors d'oeuvres to set the mood before the proper meal could be served, but that would be much later this evening.

The object of the festivities sat at a table by herself, smiling happily as guests approached to offer her their well wishes. Alice was a beautiful, charming girl, Mirriel had to admit - raised and bred with class and charisma to match. It was only natural, of course; she was her daughter, after all. The girl's mother stood on the steps leading out of the manor, watching as dignitaries, wealthy merchants, nobles, and the ever-present Families - they of the shadow, of the smuggling, of the robbery, of the dirt dealings - mingle with one another. She stood aloof from it all, for now. Dark eyes like polished glass sparkled in the brilliant illumination, and oddly caught some of the natural fireworks in her eyes. The fiery light of the dying sun gleamed therein, in those icy orbs.

The Alleur widow wore an ankle-length dress of such deep blue as to be nearly black, silver embroidery chasing hem and sleeve, and encircling her throat like another fine necklace. The neckline dipped, but only enough to tease; the bodice fit tight, revealing the figure that had snared so many. She wore jewelry, too, but the pieces were of thin gold with small gems - mostly ruby and garnet, to complement the blue. She had tied her hair back tonight. She stood there, regal and distant - much like her namesake suggested.

The Raven Queen.

She nodded to a guest as they passed by, their respectful nod curdling her stomach. The tall fellow was an influential member of another of the syndicates here, and while the name escaped her, she could feel nothing but disdain for him and so many of the others here. Politicians were little better than thieves, and the thieves held themselves to the same standard, thought them the same class as the nobles that mingled with the rest.

It was a sickening sight to her. That she technically belonged in that special class of criminal did not make her rest any easier...and she had no intention of abandoning the path she had set out for herself, twenty years before.

With the setting of the sun, the flow of those who considered them the who's who of Alliria would arrive in greater number. It was but her daughter's sweet sixteen, but such gatherings served as more than shows of wealth and power. They also served as places where the unscrupulous of the city could hammer out alliances, discuss business - and do so in broad daylight, as it were, without raising alarm or a word against them.

There was nothing to do but watch, for now, and allow her daughter to enjoy herself as was proper.

 

[WolfHorns]

The carriage rumbled loudly. The sound drifted up through the floor and bounced inside of the cabin. Two men sat across from each other on dark velvet seats. They were dressed in the same colors even if the styles were different. The elder of the two, a man whose hair had long turned white as snow, sat with his back straight and his jaw set. The shimmer of disapproval obvious in his eyes. The younger was slouched. His arse slid forward away from the back of the cushion. He wore his doublet, midnight blue with silver lining, open. His pure white shirt bared for all to see. He did not return the other's gaze, but merely examined the passing scenery through the open windows.

"Do not embarrass us tonight." Dark green eye passed over the young man and joined his vigil on the outside. Cobbled streets moved by. Not as fast as they could, but far quicker than if he was walking. The common folk still moved about. They carried buckets of water and loads of trade goods. Tired men and dirty women milled bout as small children scampered between their legs. A young couple hid behind a building and a man kicked his hound. More and more acts banal inanity happened throughout the city. As was the want of the common masses.

The young man, who looked identical to the older except for the lack of white hair and wrinkles, grunted in reply. His father's comment needed no response. It was the same warning he had been hearing from the man since he was but a boy. And it was the same warning he would undoubtedly flout in some way shape or form.

The homes and stores of the common slowly gave way to more refined establishments. Jewelers and crafters of fine metals began to sprout as if by magic. But they too would halt at the edge of one of the most reverred estates in Alliria. The household Alleur family.

Black stone walls sprouted from the ground, twisted and burned, grown in a perfect line. The walls split in only one place, the gate. Wrought of dark steel by one of the cities finest blacksmiths, they were rumoured to have been enchanted so as to never break or rust. Those self same gates were opened wide. Several guards stood at attention. Their pointed halberds held out at a 35 degree angle. Dark plate, clothed in a white talberd adorned the men. A simple black raven, the mark of House Alleur, was shown proudly upon their chests.

A knock on the door came as the carriage rumbled to a stop. "Excuse me Sirs," the door swung open to reveal another of the guards. The only difference was that instead of a halberd he carried a book and a fountain pen. "I believe you both are Baron Artur Lindwell and his son, Derrick Lindwell. Am I correct?"

Derrick grunted in answer, which quickly caught the unseen ire of his father. That was why he responded in that manner in the first place.

"Yes, you are correct." Artur replied to the guard's question without even looking at him. It would have been a breach of formalities if he had.

After giving a quick thank you and making a note of them in his log, the guard retreated and closed the door behind him. Soon the were moving again, as if they never stopped. The manor proper soon came into view. Every terrace and balcony lit to imitate the day. Countless people, merchants and lords all, milled beyond the grand windows. No few of which had made their way to the yards and gardens on the estate. Hidden places where young men and women made excuses to slip off to. Some would be caught while others would escape. It was but a game for the youth, nothing more and nothing less.

Despite being a Baron in Allirea, which made him far wealthier than barons in other countries, Artur's carriage still had to park a ways from the main door. He could feel the crunch of the gravel under his boots. The din of music, laughter, and silent dealings in the background. As he retrieved his cane from the driver, Derrick disappeared into the crowd.

Sighing to himself, Artur Lindwell walked slowly and calmly towards the stairs. He could see the matriarch of the House standing at the top. She appeared no less an imposing bird of prey, despite being only two-thirds his age. The key to this interaction was to give no quarter. To not push to far, but to also be steadfast in whatever stance he took. He knew, that once he spoke in front of her his words would be held against him. Should he try to run from his own claims, then he would be cut down and chained by them. A fate that he had witnessed the woman meet out more than once.

The only faux pas he was planning on making was their matching apparel. While it was customary to wear a different color scheme from the host, Artur had always worn the dark blue and silver of his House. It just so happened that the Countess had decided to wear the same colors. And as he walked up the stairs it appeared that she had noticed his transgression. Typically, for a guest to wear the same coloration as the host they had to have a close personal connection. A connection that the Alleurs and Lindwells did not have. Though some would speculate after tonight.

Coming up to the last stair, the tip of his cane cracking against the darkened stone, Artur looked straight into the woman's eyes. Neither one backed down for a moment. Her from a position of power, and his from a position of uncomformity. But it was not to last. She still ranked above him and he give her her rightful due. Bowing at the waist, his right hand placed over his heart, he intoned his white-haired head towards her. "Good Evening Countess."

Derrick Lindwell's POV

The young man moved freely between the throngs. While he had no desire to play the political machinations of his fellow nobles, Derrick was by no means unskilled at the art. He was well-liked, many of his peers reaching out to him on this night. But he had one goal. Tonight was the night. It would be the night that he, along with every other young man in Alliria got the chance to speak to the Raven Queen's own daughter, Alice Alleur.

Derrick had heard naught but rumours about the girl. But those would undoubtedly be repealed after tonight. Colors abounded around him. Bright greens and vibrant reds. Yellows and distant oranges. But no one wore silver, or blue of the darkest night. None except for his family and the Alleurs. He could already here them. The whispering of rumours behind tilted hands. They spoke of things they knew nought of. of deals and trade, of which there was none.

Naturally the young man ignored them, and in so doing eventually found his prize. He saw her, Alice, dressed in a gown woven from the night sky. Studs of silver twinkled like stars in the flickering lights. The way it moved, it flowed around her as she walked amongst her guests. The girl was no great beauty, yet. She would be though. Now was the time to woo her. Before she grew into her mother's beauty and became the envy of every man in Alliria.

Derrick made his way to her slowly, never looking for more than a moment. But as they drew closer together, the more observant individuals backed away. Like everything else, colors had meaning in the games of the wealthy, and in this game their matching dress meant intimacy. A trick that the young Lindwell was certain to use.

"Who might you be, my Lady?" Derrick leaned towards her to ask, his voice low so as to be hard to hear by eavesdroppers. The girl looked back into his eyes. Brown and blue, mixing for a moment. They both knew who she was. The true question was for who, and that was who this young man was.

Spoiler: Images of Artur and Derrick Lindwell

 

[Mirriel Alleur]

The girl was certainly not practiced in the behavior of high society, and that was not surprising at all. Her mother had kept her away from that world as long as she could. Alas, the time of innocence had passed; only her younger brother yet remained ignorant of the wider world.

The Alleur scion moved with a touch less grace than her elder peers, but she maintained all the hauteur of her station all the same. Among the people in these circles, she was certainly in good company, and there was no call to look down her nose at the others as they greeted her and offered their gifts - invariably shunted to a table to one side. She murmured thanks here and there, and made her way round the courtyard, sweet music drifting on a splendid spring evening.

She turned at the voice, a perfect eyebrow arching at the question. "Surely you jest, my Lord," she said lightly in a dulcet tone. She gestured at the gathering round them, garnets gleaming from her wrists, and from her neck as well - although the high neck of the dark dress hid even a hint of cleavage from the young Alleur. "I am but the cause for this gathering," she said lightly. "One would not think you would be ignorant of the name of every member of my family," she said playfully, and then covered her mouth with a hand and laughed softly. It merely highlighted her youth, and certainly did not detract from the sun-haired, budding beauty she displayed.

***

Her eyes shifted the the man approaching her, but then went back to the people milling about. Her eyes spotted her daughter again, and she cast those dark orbs about. She found what she was looking for soon enough; men in chain at the gates was all well and good, but she was far less confident in honest men doing honest work than she was in the people she had picked up from the streets. Granted a life far above their station, they were fervently devoted to their duties.

Alice was never very far from a pair of knives. Mirriel caught the eye of the man, dressed as some minor merchant of modest means - and therefore someone who belonged here - and their eyes met. There was no nod of acknowledgement, for that would have given the game away. Keep an eye on her, that look said.

Pity on anyone who dared lay a finger on her daughter.

She turned at the words, spoken in dignified manner. The Alleur matriarch turned her head to face the speaker, and then the rest of her followed. Slowly, deliberately. "My lord," she said, tipping her head in respect. She ignored the title - many set strong store by it, but she was not one of them. Nobles had a great deal of power and prestige, but she...she could say a word, and the man or woman - regardless of station - would vanish.

Not worth the trouble, usually. Intimidation was far more effective.

"I am afraid you have me at a loss, Lord Lindwell," she said as she straightened. He had her at no such disadvantage, of course; their family was a known quantity. While there were certainly things that she did not know about him and his kindred, she doubt that it amounted to very much. Still. "A pleasure to see you and your son are in attendance."

Their choice of attire had not escaped her, either, but it was of no consequence at the moment. Maybe, later, something could made of it. She shifted her stance, fabric sighing softly as she did so. "And where would young Derrick be?" She looked about at the young ladies filtering through the people in attendance, and then laughed low and throatily. "I wonder," she said.