Open Chronicles An Arrangement of Stardust

[Nilamani]

Nilamani's eyes watched the spark arc away and sputter out. It reminded them a little of the spark they had seen emit from Pomrick Bloomsfield in the paddock. The one that had made Nilamani truly want to keep an eye on him. Not that much had come of it. Aside from a bit of nice friendship.

Yet, Nilamani took an almost immediate dislike to the constant buzz coming off Maester Vaezhasar Drakspae . It was irritating, noisy even. Nilamani's polite smile grew a bit strained.

They had very little intention of taking the combat class. They weren't particularly opposed to violence per say....or opposed to perspiring...in fact it was difficult to put in to words.
They simply didn't like it.
Nor were they sure what 'less elective' might mean. was it a pre-requisite for something?
Many of the Maester's could be unsettling. This one was certainly not an exception. The way that he spoke of the course was quite different to how Maester kikwi spoke about their own course. It put a bad taste in Nilamani's mouth. Or perhaps that was more of Maester Drakspae's aura.

"I see. How good of you to concern yourself with my well being. I shall keep your warning in mind."
For Nilamani the study of creature's at the college was personal. A way of gauging what tricks might be one day turned on them. They had the feeling that whatever it was Maester Drakspae used to reign in his 'entities' it wasn't kind. The way he spoke of it perhaps they were things which weren't meant to evoke pity. Then again there were people in this room who likely regarded Nilamani as a 'not wholesome entity.'
It was all very subjective.
The Maester's way of speaking was crude, casually insulting, and almost riddle-like for Nilamani. They wondered if this was where Lysander Docatto Valestri had gotten that strange intensity from.

Disconcerted they glanced at Pomrick whose eyes seem to be attempting to escape his skull. Oh dear.
This eased their own anxiety a bit.
With a small laugh they decided perhaps they had let their own nerves color the whole thing.

 

[Pomrick Bloomsfield]

He inclined his head the breadth of a hinge. “The combat class is mandatory—board’s ruling, not mine. That means you will attend, you will perspire, and you will discover how very educational the pointy ends of things can be.” A beat. “I should add that injury builds character, but the bursar grows cranky about paperwork.”

Combat. With magic? His heart sank like a storm-wrecked ship at the mention of 'mandatory.' No escape then.

Elbion College simply kept pouring one, unwelcome surprise after another over him, like buckets of ice-cold water, waking him up to reality. A reality that Vaeshazar alluded to with ominous, loaded energy, as if the very air was charged around him. Somehow, it felt as if that very reality reluctantly made way for his presence.

Touching reality . . . what did that even mean? Didn't everyone always touch reality? But somehow, he couldn't help feel that Vaeshazar referred to something else entirely from Pomrick's own, arcane dealings with reality: Shaving stubborn nose-hair, hand-washing his own undergarments and desperately trying to curb nature's call in class, before rushing for the nearest latrine.

He thought the whole ensemble of his experience with magic had been plenty dangerous so far. Hardly daring to imagine what next level of insanity it would be sparring with bolts of lightning and balls of explosive fire, Pomrick licked suddenly drying lips.

Compared to these future dangers, he was beginning to reconcile Nilamani's new form. He spoke quietly, mostly for Nilamani- and Lysander's ears, though he couldn't avoid the attention of the looming maester:

"Think I'll . . . elect to pass the magical en-tea-tea one. What about you?"

Tea and more tea didn't sound so bad, but he couldn't lie, getting more sleep sounded even better.

Lysander Docatto Valestri
Nilamani
Vaezhasar Drakspae

 

[Lysander Docatto Valestri]

Pomrick Bloomsfield
Nilamani
Vaezhasar Drakspae


Lysander shifted, planting his feet and setting his hands at his hips. A small frown cast its shadow; his white brows drew together like two creatures meeting on a narrow branch.

“Spare me the melodramatics, Pomrick, Nilamani,” he said, and there was a clean edge to the words. “Don’t be timid for the sake of it. We came to learn wizardry, not merely safe tricks. What sort of wizard is frightened away by magic? If newness puts us to flight, what kind of sorcery do we imagine ourselves fit to practice?”

He let the breath out, and his tone gentled. “I’ll take the class,” he said. “Anyone with a measure of ambition should.”

 

[Vittoria Larrainth]

"Is that..." he squinted at the girl with the dark hair, "Quinnick?"

"Oh!" Vittoria let out a soft air of surprise. "Indeed, it is."

She had crossed paths with Dreadlord Quinnick a few months ago, or more, for Vittoria had been a suspect of an Initiate's murder, but Quinnick was quick to dismiss it. The way her magic worked, and how the woman wielded it, had intrigued Vittoria.

Proctor Krixus and an associate, one Vitt had not seen before.

"How curious, that the gala could bring in such a mixture of occupations and class here." So far, she knew herself and Kilien were the only Initiates here in attendance, invited by Anirians before they crossed the river on the ferry. They had escorted a scholar that had work here in Elbion, and no doubt would be in attendance here as a sigh of good will. "Should we mingle? Make new friends?"

The idea of Vittoria making friends was a jest in itself, for she was not only incapable of doing so, but her idea of forming relationships was not for the meek. Even greater Dreadlords were unnerved by her.

Not Kilien.

 

[Bliss]

“I suspect you enjoy teaching me far more than my dull classmates anyway."

"I wouldn't say such a thing about people with actual personality." She quipped, having taken his offered arm with an awkward hold. Not wanting to be so near to him, but alas, his nobility and upbringing was a practice she was not used to.

Instead of making a fuss about it, Bliss chose to humour him for some time before planning to ditch his side.

"Those square grey objects are called strongholds. In the case of this landscape piece, it is a fortress called Vel Castere." She knew the name. It had popped up a few times further back in her family history, for the Gradimirs were Anirian first before settling in Elbion.

 

[Henk]

Alistair and Livia didn't pretend to be ecstatic to see him again, and Henk supposed he appreciated the honesty. To Krixus, he was likely still only a few rungs above traitor. To Livia... well, from the look of her, there wasn't too much left of the girl he'd trained. She'd been hardened, her soul thickened against the steel and sorrow that awaited every Dreadlord outside the walls.

Henk closed his eyes, smiling softly as he bowed his head politely to the pair of them. "Well enough, thank you. It has been difficult being away from home again, but I know hands far more capable than mine will safeguard it." It didn't seem as though he was going to offer any specificity as to where he'd been, and he now walked between them, stepping a few feet forward before turning to face them both.

"It's beautiful, this city. Tonight's exhibitions only enhance that splendor." Henk turned his head to look across only a few of the many works on display, a peaceful look about him as his gaze lingered on each one thoughtfully, before moving onto the next. "Did you ever think, Alistair, That we'd reach a moment in which our titles brought us to sipping wine and admiring the fine arts?"

A little chuckle left him, and he shook his head.

"Forgive the question. I know some of us hold more titles than others."

Alistair was more than a Dreadlord, wasn't he? The last name of Krixus held a weight heavier than that of most. Henk didn't know the extent, or the history of the name, however; He didn't much care for politics and Anirian history.

"And you, Livia. You've sprouted since I saw you last. Word is you've been working with the Vigilite, yes? Good. Erodin is... well, I'm glad you've had his brain to pick." The last time he'd met Erodin, they'd tried to kill one another. Nevertheless, Henk held a begrudging respect for the man's ability, on and off the field.

 

[Elyon and Eshara]

The idea of "fancy dress" wasn't wholly unfamiliar to Ely'Esha, but it remained a foreign one to them. At the very least, every place they'd been had a different idea of what that meant! The Dornochi fancied long, flowing robes of silk, but the twins had not seen anyone wearing anything like that since they arrived in Elbion. Men apparently wore suits here, and women gowns, for the purposes of fancy events. Ely'Esha didn't much care for how different the two stylings were. It made the difference between them even more stark, and that rubbed them both the wrong way.

Then a local tailor introduced them to the concept of "coordinating outfits." What the man managed to come up with suited Ely'Esha just fine. And just in the nick of time, too!

Now the gala itself was here. What it was exactly still eluded the twins, but any opportunity to try something new was one that Ely'Esha were eager for. Supposedly there'd even be other travelers from a far off place here!

As the panorama of new sights and sounds unfolded before them, the two looked at each other with knowing smiles. They didn't strictly need to communicate with each other in plain common, but a classmate had told them that Yan'Kai was "rude" and "weird, please stop that," so they'd been working on using the tongue of the locals more often.

"So many things to look at and learn of, sister," Elyon intoned, his eyes drawn to the many works of art within.

"And so many new people to speak with, brother," Eshara replied, making eyes at the darkly dressed foreigners who traipsed the halls.

Another glance was exchanged between the two, then a synchronized snicker before pushing deeper to find what might await them at the curious gala.

 

[Pomrick Bloomsfield]

“Spare me the melodramatics, Pomrick, Nilamani,” he said, and there was a clean edge to the words. “Don’t be timid for the sake of it. We came to learn wizardry, not merely safe tricks. What sort of wizard is frightened away by magic? If newness puts us to flight, what kind of sorcery do we imagine ourselves fit to practice?”

Pomrick hunched up his shoulders at Lysander's chastisement. He stuck his hands into a pair of massive pockets in his borrowed robe, trying not to look like a sulking child - and failing.

He got momentarily distracted as two, horned figures drifted by, snickering and chatting to themselves. A girl and a boy. Curiously similar.

As they merged with the fancy throng, it brought something to perspective for him. He'd been so used to meeting the same faces, day in and day out, but the world was much bigger than that. It had so many people in it. Each one with their unique assets and abilities. How was he going to face all that with an honest face, if people thought him frightened?

He looked at Lysander again, a touch of resentment marring his eyes. Here he was, a few years his junior, and not a speck of worry to be detected on him. He stood tall, proud and easy in the midsts of this host of people - towering maesters, savvy students, intense Dreadlords and who knew what else - not a single bead of sweat to his brow or an uncertain flinch to be found. All so dapper in pristine white . . .

Pomrick's arms crossed defensively, his mouth setting into a determined pout.

"I ain't frightened. I just, uh--" he swallowed, before setting his course, trying to look like a lean, mean killing machine. Mostly this just puffed his cheeks out and caused him to rock from heel to toe in his display of casualness. "I wanna focus on combat. Training. You know? Work on what - what matters." A sniff and a wipe of his nose punctuated his adopted manner. That was how steel-nerved mercenaries acted, after all.

Lysander Docatto Valestri
Nilamani

 

[Nilamani]

Their anxious heart was eased a little by Pomrick Bloomsfield 's whisper. It was a little reassuring to know they weren't the only one who had been a bit thrown off by this turn. Nilamani offered him an amused smile.
Lysander Docatto Valestri 's proud stance was met with an uncertain frown. It seemed the very nature of their fitness as wizard was being called into question.
It put them in a bit of a bind. They weren't so sure they could readily agree with Lysander. Yet quibbling about the nature of ambition certainly didn't seem to be the point of today's Gala. They placed their hand to their cheek with a bit of a troubled expression. This far out of their element they found themself lacking in a witty repertoire. Especially as they gathered any earnest replies would have earned one of those 'what are you an idiot?' style expressions.
Then Pomrick spoke up again. His chest puffed out and standing a bit straighter than usual. An easy grin alighted their features once more. It reminded Nilamani that true or not, there was no need to make such a big show of it.
"Oh~ And here I had thought you were of the gentler souls. I had no Idea you had such dedications."
They had to admit that the thought of Pomrick being a combat enthusiast was an odd image. Someone so clumsy wielding offensive magic seemed just as much a hazard for Pomrick as for the would be target. Then again the one wizard they knew who loved combat, wielded such a mind bogglingly simple almost non-magic type of wizardry, as to be a wonder how they managed to enroll. So really, Nilamani almost wondered if Pomrick would just fit right in.
Their eyes turned to glance out at the crowed and noticed the same pair of horned figures in Dornochi robes. The college did grow more exotic every year...or were they with other guests, surely not?
They turned their gaze back to the small group. "Well, I suppose I will leave the matter of what type of wizard I am to a latter date. Perhaps I shall make some effort to take in the art for now. and decide latter."
They cast their eyes to some of the paintings nearby and pointed to a canvas with a stormy grey seascape. In the foreground silver grey sands, and in the distance a many tentacled kraken peaking from the murky water. The inky black paint of the tentacle lit from behind by striking lighting an affect of magic woven into the paint strokes.
"Speaking of homely paintings, I'm rather taken with that one."

 

[Vaezhasar Drakspae]

Pomrick Bloomsfield
Nilamani
Lysander Docatto Valestri
He looked between them, the helm’s gaze like a plumb line. “Bring your wits, your questions, and notebooks you aren’t sentimental about. Leave your illusions at the door; I shall provide better ones inside.” The staff clicked again, courteous as a period at the end of a paragraph.

“Now,” he continued, tone as casual as if he were excusing himself from a dull dinner, “you’ll have to forgive me. I’ve to look over the rest of the procession. Should you wish to find me, I’ll be about—likely keeping myself entertained at someone else’s expense, given how underwhelming this gallery’s turned out.”

With that, he turned smartly on his heels. The great armored bulk set off at a deliberate pace, the horned helm bobbing slightly with each step, while the staff’s ferrule made a crisp click-clack that sounded suspiciously like a man drawing his own punctuation marks as he went

 

[Yuebing Coquelicot]

Yuebing had actually been quite looking forward to this event. She liked looking at beautiful things. Especially if they were crafted with extreme care.
She dropped several subtle( almost certainly too subtle) hints to her roommate Svenia Albrecht that she thought the girl should attend.
Or rather she had been attempting to needle out of the girl if a certain Dornochi classmate had asked her to accompany him. Yue couldn't exactly drag the girl to the event physically, nor was she capable of earnestly telling Svenia openly that she wanted her to come.

She had decided to wear one of the dresses she had brought along with her from Dornoch. The ones she normally wore for the mid autumn festival back home. A hanfu belted high with pale yellow flowers embroidered and gold trim. It's many layers in colors of warm pale oranges and teals. She had adorned her buns with small red poppies as a nod to the Elbion side of her heritage.
After all this was a social event. She needed to make some effort to play the game of nobles.

It seemed she had arrived a little late. There was one of the older students pleading with a doorman. As Yuebing approached closer she realized it was an elven girl. One with a much more boyish style than elegant Aiko .
With a hesitant frown she considered waiting but the girl did seem to want in quite badly. It really was bad form not to account for the standards before arriving...but then it wasn't the worst dress Yue had seen.
Earthy tones suited the tall girl Yue thought.

She frowned at the doorman as she approached.
"I will lend my coat." Yue spoke to Feä Mindalië her tone not exactly soft but not as sharp as the tone she used when turning to speak to the man. "A bit of finery and the favor of House Coquelicot. That should be enough for entry." Her tone was the sort of proud and assured tone of a noble daughter, it left no room for argument.
She carefully took the coat off, it was a pale golden color made of a chiffon like material, almost transparent. On Yue it was floor length but on the Elf she gathered it would probably be quite a bit shorter.
Her eyes telling Fea to play along for the time being.

 

[Calixtus]

Calixtus chuckled low in his throat, her quip only deepening the smirk on his lips. Parry and riposte.

“Ah, so there is a tongue behind those wards. Careful, you’ll convince me you actually enjoy my company.”

His arm shifted just slightly beneath hers, subtle, tightening the hold so it seemed as though she had chosen to lean closer rather than to keep her distance.

At the mention of Vel Castere, his brows rose with feigned surprise.

“Impressive. I wouldn’t have guessed a Gradimir would waste her evenings studying Anirian fortresses. Perhaps you’re not as dull as I’d feared.” He let the compliment hang a heartbeat before undercutting it with a sharper edge. “Though, of course, blood remembers its roots even when one tries to bury them beneath Elbion polish.”

He stepped a pace nearer the painting, angling himself so he could half-watch her rather than the art.

“Strongholds, wards, defenses… it’s all the same to you, isn’t it? Walls upon walls. A pity.” His voice dipped, almost conspiratorial.

“You’d be far more fascinating if you learned when to let them fall.”

 

[Bliss]

She wanted to hit him with a stinging hex, for being so unbearably obnoxious. Every word he spoke, it was done with absolute privilege and confidence, Bliss wanted to slip away and ignore him.

"Are you really thick or do you only think about your own family's work and industry? Is it so interesting for a Gradimir, the same Gradimirs that are stonemasons, to learn about stonework in architecture?" She laughed, derisively, and pointedly did not look at him. Oh, he just filled her with such anger and annoyance.

Bliss rolled her eyes.

She made it clear, and obviously so, that she did not enjoy being in his presence. She merely tolerated him, she had to, for Maester Blodwyn entrusted her to help keep Calixtus ahead of his class. Continuing those weekly lessons was to show the Maester she was reliable.

"Oh, please!" Bliss sighed aloud. "What's wrong? Made no friends in your class, you have to bother me?"

 

[Feä Mindalië]

Greater even than Feä's surprise was that of the doorman. The moment Yuebing mentioned a noble house, his demeanor changed (and in truth, he needed not even to be familiar with the house in question). Sternness faded and in its place came deference, as keen was it on the doorman's mind not to tangle with the daughter of certain powerful personages.

"Yes. Quite enough, quite enough," said the doorman, stepping to the side.

As for Feä, had it not been for Yue's look, she surely would have spoken in confusion. But as it happened she kept her peace, accepted the coat and put it on, and in to the Art Gala were they allowed.

As they walked, Feä had time for a recollection—she had heard the family name of Coquelicot elsewhere in the College. Was this, then, Yuebing, the name which she had heard accompanying it, or were there others of the Coquelicot House attending the College?

Regardless, she said, "I thank you. I do not know why the doorman did not allow me to pass. Was this gala not meant for all students who wish to attend?"

Her question was not rhetorical, but genuine. Truly she had thought nothing of her attire—only so much as doffing and destroying the dress provided by her father.

Yuebing Coquelicot