Open Chronicles Family Dinner - House Urahil

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Lyon Urahil

The Kingmaker
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Lyon Urahil sat at the head of the long dining table in his castle, surveying his surroundings with a sense of satisfaction. The table was set with the finest silverware and crystal glasses, and a sumptuous feast had been laid out for his enjoyment. He sipped at a goblet of rich, red wine, relishing the smooth taste on his tongue.

His eyes swept over the room, taking in the opulence of his surroundings. The walls were made of smooth, gray stone, cool to the touch, and the high, vaulted ceiling was supported by thick, sturdy columns. The floors were covered in plush, crimson carpets, and the furniture was crafted from dark, polished wood.

The servants moved about the room, silent and efficient, ensuring that Lyon's every need was met. They poured wine, served food, and cleared away empty dishes without a word, their movements graceful and precise.

Lyon's children sat at the table with him, though he couldn't help but feel a sense of annoyance towards them. His eldest son Felix, was absent, off actually fulfilling his responsibilities as the heir to the Urahil name. The last best hope for their house. If he fell like Godfrey and Luther, well… Best not to dwell on such things. It was frustrating to have to rely on such flawed and disappointing spares.

Odessa was a naive and unmanageable girl, and he knew it would be difficult to marry her off properly. As for Leander, while he possessed powerful magical abilities, the boy lacked proper ambition and was often foolish in his actions. Lyon couldn't help but feel a sense of derision and dismissiveness towards his own children. After all, they were just products of his own weaknesses and failings as a parent.

Despite his reservations, Lyon knew that he would need to rely on his children to help him achieve his goals. But it was frustrating to have to rely on such flawed and disappointing heirs. Lyon couldn't help but feel a sense of patriarchal superiority, knowing that he was the one truly in charge of the Urahil name and legacy. As they sat together at the dining table, surrounded by luxury and wealth, Lyon knew that he would have to find a way to mold his children into the proper heirs he needed them to be, no matter how difficult that task might be.

As Lyon sits at the head of the dining table, he cannot help but ponder the state of Vel Anir. The republic may have its own charm, but Lyon knows that the monarchy is the only way to bring stability and prosperity to the realm. He cannot sit back and watch as the commoners squander the land with their ineptitude. No, Lyon must restore the crown to its rightful place, a symbol of unity and strength for all the people of the land.

But it won't be easy. The struggle ahead will be full of twists and turns, highs and lows, victories and defeats. Lyon knows he must stay strong and persevere. He must be cunning and resourceful, navigating the treacherous waters of politics with care.

He looks up at the crest of House Urahil on the wall, a red gryffin on a white field, and wonders if his children have what it takes to continue the legacy. Felix, the eldest, may be absent, but Lyon knows he is capable. Odessa, though naive and unmanageable, may surprise him yet. And Leander, powerful but foolish, may need more guidance to reach his full potential.

Lyon will not rest until one of his children sits on the throne of Vel Anir, restoring the monarchy to its full glory. He has already lost so many sons to get them here. For Lyon, there is no other way forward, no other path to greatness.
 
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He hated family dinners. Every since his mother had died, Leander hated family dinners. The only good thing about this family dinner was that Felix was unable to make it with his stupidly beautiful and extremely compliant wife and that crazy daughter of his. Leander wasn’t sure why Felix wouldn’t try for another kid, although to him it made more sense that Felix was trying for a son but for whatever reason was unable to have one.

Served him right. He was a murderer. He murdered their mother, Leander was sure of it.

Too bad he couldn’t prove it.

The youngest Urahil son looked at Odessa, and without hesitation, he brushed his fingertips along the bare skin of the back of her hand, hopefully without their father noticing.

I hate this. I’d rather be at the Academy. He shared with his twin, although his pale gold eyes turned to look at Lyon Urahil. There was no one that Leander despised most, well, other than Felix. His father would surely expect Leander to play his roll, to be the personal bodyguard of Felix and allow him to take on title after title. Felix would be unstoppable, with Leander around twenty-four-seven, magic would be useless.

Leander couldn’t imagine a more miserable life. Just because Felix was born with the family magic. Why would that make Leander less?

He knew why. He knew exactly what Felix’s magic could do. And if a war were to ever break out amongst the Empire and Vel Anir, he knew it would be Felix’s might that would make the Empire reconsider such a thing. Leander looked down at his plate.

He may as well eat. The stuff they served at the Academy was disgusting. At least this had been cooked in butter and herbs.

Odessa Urahil
 
Oraya's slippered feet strode through the marbled halls. Shoulders back. Back the perfect posture. Frigid blue gaze so much like their father's. So much like Luther's had been, swept the dining hall as she entered.

Tardy.

Per usual. A sense of relief as she saw Felix absent. A sense of warmth and love as she saw Odessa and Leander present. A sense of foreboding as her eyes found Lyon.

"Father," fingers smoothed down the folds of her gown as she didn't hesitate, striding to a seat next to her father, across from the twins. Servants rushed forward to push her chair in. Place the silk napkin in the noblewoman's lap. Fill her wine glass with something that looked a shade like blood.

"The last suitor you sent to my door failed to show up for a second meeting, Father." Lifting her silk napkin, she daintily pressed the edges around her lips, covering her expression as she said. "It is rather unfortunate."

Napkin fell to her lap as she looked to Leander and Odessa. A small frown and real concern on her face. "Are they feeding you enough at the Academy?"
 
A light drizzle poured down outside the Urahil castle. Two riders strode down the mud soaked path up to the gates. The Urahil guards stopped them.

“Who goes there!” one guard asked.

One of the visitors approached. A young man in his twenties. His jaws tensed and his eyes appeared to bounce around as if a nervous wreck.

“Third Level Dreadlord... Banco, here to... meet with Lord Urahil. This letter... is my proof,” Banco told the guards – sometimes having to force the words out of his mouth.

Banco then handed over a letter sealed in a rather water-resistant envelope. It bore a seal used only by First Level Dreadlords. The guard recognized this.

“I’ll inform the Lord,” one of the guards told Banco, “He may be delayed, he has family matters to attend tonight. Follow me inside so you can at least get dry.”

With that, the guard guided these two Dreadlords into the reception room of the Urahil castle. Their horses were taken to the stables and a servant was given the letter to deliver to Lyon Urahil at the Lord’s pleasure. The Dreadlords were not disarmed, as it would be Lyon’s decision on how to address that should he decide to meet with them.

Once inside the reception room, the Dreadlords were left alone. Nothing to welcome them was provided.

The second Dreadlord lowered the hood – revealing a visage that appeared as Aelita with a beaming smile.

Nice to finally be out of the rain,” she mused as Banco stared at her with wary, tired eyes.
 
Time spent with the family was always…tense. There was a suffocating thickness in the air any time Leander was in a room with either older male in the family. An undeniable hatred that no one ever seemed to acknowledge out loud. In a sort of morbid way, it brought Odessa joy when she was not alone in suffering at the hands of their father.

She didn’t look at Leander as he ‘spoke’ to her, but acknowledged him with a smile just before their sister strolled in. She found it funny that their most amicable conversations happened in a home filled with so much hatred. It is just for the night. You will be okay. She mused before brushing his hand away from hers.

Silently as always, she listened to her sister’s latest letdown of a man. Whoever or whatever was making them mysteriously disappear didn’t seem to bother Odessa. In fact, she thought it was a good thing. Oraya had read far too many fairy tales. Her expectations were limitless. No one would ever be good enough for her.

Other than a King, of course.

Still, she feigned a frown before her comments and concerns were directed towards the twins. She looked at Leander, shoveling the food in his mouth, while Odessa barely picked at her plate. Unlike her twin who was tall and muscular, she was scrawny. Dangerously thin, even. Not that it mattered. It was probably better for anyone else, she figured, if they could toss her lifeless body around like a ragdoll when she was needed.

Too bad it was just another thing for her father to pick at.

“Of course. Three meals a day.”
 
A flicker of a smile, a ghost of mirth, flitted across Lyon’s lips at Oraya’s words. Any number of mishaps may have befallen her latest suitor, but Lyon suspected paid brigands in an alley at night. She was a jealous girl, who did not brook fools. Perhaps that was why he was not as irked by her words as she intended. Some measure of a father’s love lingered still. Despite the death of her mother.

Oraya began wheedling Odessa. Lyon snorted and took a sip of his wine.

The twins. A conundrum. Leander wolfing down his food, Odessa barely eating at all. One the blowhard debutante, the other a pale wallflower. Perhaps it was inevitable that the two of them born but moments apart would have such different dispositions.

One of Lyon’s retainers came forward and whispered in his ear. Lyon’s brows rose.

“Ah. Of course, see them in.”

The doors to the dining room were cast open, inviting a soggy pair of Dreadlords to approach the table full of Urahils.
 
They only starve if it’s effective to the initiate. Privation or inanition isn’t common. Especially now.” Leander explained to Oraya. A majority of male initiates would never get more than the perfunctory trial of weekly fasting every other week for a few months, but he realized the fasting was only during the times before a mission and never during one. They had to learn to power through the hunger and to still perform at their best.

Same could be said for the female initiates that were bigger and stronger than the majority of their class. Or initiates with nobility in them.

He could only remember one or two initiates that had actually been starved. But even that had stopped at a certain point. Most likely due to the Revolution and the Republic, but he supposed before then as well. Weapons needed to be strong. And initiates—

Leander looked over as the dreadlords and initiates came in, recognizing one face immediately. Well, at least it wasn’t the dumb snitch Lumen. He looked at his father.

So because Felix and Amoux aren’t here, we have guests?” Leander said, and immediately went for a second helping of everything he thought to be more valuable of the dishes onto his plate.

Like he was going to let Aelita get anything good if Lyon sat her down at the table.
 
A silent look to her favorite siblings across the table as if to say, courage dear ones. A nudge of her ankle against their shins beneath the table, like old times, as she offered them some of their favorite candies beneath the shadow of the table.

Sour, terrible things and black licorice for Odessa. Dark chocolate with cream in the center for Leander.

She sat up straighter at the mention of guests. Barely able to keep her ice-blue eyes from rolling if it was her father's attempt at bringing in more suitors to her life. One eyebrow ticked upward in surprise at who they were. They looked like half-drowned lower city rats.

Her attention lowered to her food as she delicately cut a small piece of the meat, bringing it up to mouth to hover at her lips.

"Father, are you so worried about your own safety as to hire more dreadlords?"
 
Upon Lyon’s invitation, two Dreadlord entered the dining room. Water still dripped from their cloaks. Dreadlord Banco nervously asked a servant if there was somewhere they could leave their cloaks, but they were told to enter as Lord Urahil demanded.

Banco stood with slumped shoulders - as if shrinking away from reality. Eyes looked down toward the floor. In his hands, Banco grasped an ornate wooden box.

In contrast, Aelita held her head high. Her eyes panned across the room - eyes crossing over every one of the Urahil’s with a steady smile. She showed no visible reaction to any one of them, though. Eventually, Aelita’s eyes would fall before Lyon.

Both Dreadlords gave a respectful bow as expected of them to Lyon. As required of them, they would not speak until Lyon gave them permission to do so.

Instead, the guard they met at the gate approached his liege. He presented the sealed letter to Lyon. The seal itself bore the mark only a First Level Dreadlord should have.

“My Lord, these Dreadlords came here to deliver this letter,” the guard quietly informed Lyon.

If Lyon took and read the letter, it would read:

Dear Lord Lyon, of House Urahil,

It is with great pleasure that we can finally meet. I represent the interests of House Luana.

I appreciate your generosity in seeing us now, in this dining room and among your family. The business I bring concerns your family, so I can understand if you wish for us to speak before them now. I can also understand if you wish to speak in private at a later time.

I eagerly await your response.

If anyone else gazed upon the letter, they would see just blank parchment.
 
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