Open Chronicles Invitation to the Rose Garden Tea Party

[Beatrice Orabela]

OOC:
Open to all
You may decided if there is some reason House Orabela sent your character a special invitation.

In character when answering the riddle you can discuss and strategize but to not make it too obvious it might be best to leave what your character is saying the answer is vague or not state it at first.
If you think you know the answer to the riddle you can message the Beatrice account on the site or message me on discord . This way if someone guesses it right away it gives others the chance to still take a crack at it.
If somehow the riddle is very hard I will give a hint in character after few days and a less subtle hint on discord.

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Invitations had been sent to Nobility, the many merchant houses and those high contacts with which regularly did business with House Orabela.
Out of curtesy these had been sent well ahead, on thick fine parchment with gold embossing about it's edged and meticulous elegant penmanship in envelopes sealed with wax emblem of a single butterfly wing.
In addition to the letter was another smaller card of parchment it's words in golden ink and trim, a small riddle.

One needn’t have knowledge of me yet I am true.
Man, woman, and child, one and all are bound.
One cannot break me no matter how much might they accrue.
Only at great cost can my boundaries be found.​

The Invitation specified there was to be a tea party at the Orabela estate. A grand tea party to celebrate Lady Beatrice's name day to which any may attend. The purpose written on the paper was to increase the chance for Beatrice's amusement. Though those of high society might very well be able to read between those well inked lines that this was a sort of re-debut after a long time shut away. Lady Beatrice had withdrawn from most social functions for years and had only been attending those matters which required her Prescence absolutely. It was as if to say come one and all, you will find no weakness in House Orabela.

Thus a few days before the Tea party illustrated parchment had been hung in a few locations to give even the common folk a chance to attend.
In a rare event indeed the large golden gates to house Orabela's estate were open wide. The tall enchanted suits of armor that normally guard the imposing gate notably absent. In their place were a handful of reserved uniformed servants standing to greet and direct guests. In dapper black and white tailoring with a golden butterfly embroidered upon shoulder or shirt collar. Each with an air of quiet poise.
These servants at the gate were all, at least in appearance, human.
They greeted each guest with equal politeness checking the invitations of those that had such against a list and personally guiding them to where the 'nobeler' guests were gathered. For indeed this was a grand event and the garden had been set to host all manner of guests.
Any guest not sent an invitation prior were handed a small parchment with the riddle in the trademark gold and waved into the garden.

Once one passed the tall sturdy wall surrounding the estate there came rolling greenery. Deceptively more so than one would think an estate in Alliria could house. Well trimmed hedge and many, many rose bushes in various shades. The garden wound in an almost maze like fashion so spread with topiary and flower beds that entering guests might not even notice the mansion itself at first, let alone be able to see how one would get to it's entrance.
Guests were guided to an open stretch of the garden where many tables of intricate metal work had been set. Servants were pouring tea into fine porcelain cups, and the tables were set with delicate little cakes, chocolates in various shapes and crust cut sandwiches of many varied ingredients.

Towards the back of the garden the tables were set on a raised wooden deck with carved lattice work covered in vine and climbing rose, shading it's tables. Near a large arch of red roses sat Beatrice herself, Cup in hand watching the tea party with interest. An elegant mature woman, her hair arranged in many waves of golden curls cascading down her shoulders, dressed in a coppery brown gown. Her every movement exuding a practiced grace and a hint of boredom.

 

[Tuncan MacKraser]

Spoiler: Optional Music IC

Ser Tuncan MacKraser. A knight of the highlands and a highlander knight if ever there was one. Or, at least, some might like to say. However, amid his sword and his play and his swordplay there was just a man ready to brave the land and accept the order of his lord wherever that land may take him.

Today, tonight, and after many days and nights on the ride, dinner in a tavern’s candlelight and breakfast over a campfire’s firelight, the journey had taken the knight quite a distance indeed. Tuncan had his sword, his horse, other forms of equipment and sported the right kind of attire for the adventure, along with mead and song to keep him company for the long trip.

Finally, he arrived at his given destination after his expedition began from the lands south of Vel Anir, so across the coast and southwest of Allir, in the land dubbed Edenham. From hills to plains, forests to rivers and lakes and landbridges, he came to the city of Allira and in one estate in particular.

“Sir Tuncan MicKraser,” a rather polite servant pronounced as he read the invitation that had since been given to the gentleman in his midst in one form or fashion, for one reason or the other. At least, for this house and its event, he was supposed to present himself as no less of a gentleman.

“Ser Tuncan MacKraser,” the guest announced, and corrected. “Mac,” he half-grinned. “Not Mic.” The servant blinked at him and he didn't flinch, thumb dipped into the belt at his hip where a dirk was sheathed—to be relinquished only if requested. If it wasn’t? Merely a trinket and tradition (and protection, if he’d admit it).

His outfit was not that of a highlander’s traveler’s garb but a bit more sophisticated with its green jacket. However, he wanted to represent his liege as much as his heritage so, inevitably, he presented himself with a brown checkered sash from hilt to shoulder, kilt, and high black boots that reached to his knees where his skirt didn’t cover.

Right. His other hand? It rested on the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip to be given the same treatment as his dagger, all formalities considered of course. One way or the other, however, Tuncan was given entrance into this pristine establishment as beckoned with his invitation, permitted, even if he felt like he did not quite earn or deserve his position. Yet he did as bidden per his lordship’s behest.

Just another guest, he hoped, as he passed hedge and rose bush, flower bed and all manner of verdant wonder. Aye. Hearken my heart back to homeland in another time. He couldn’t help but grin at this garden. It was more vivid and rich than any lordship.

Through the looking glass clearly. Riddles in the dark. Spyglass in the pouch that hung from his belt and then some, but Tuncan needed only his green eyes to see with as he spied guests and servants, close or far, a smile to his guile and patience with plain step to his gait.

The host of the rose. Tuncan turned and gave only a delicate notice to her though. Beatrice Orabela. Her golden hair enriched her beauty, as words beyond golden ink in letters of cards and parchments inferred, but her shoulders were another form of boredom when it came to a different plate that had taken Tuncan’s gaze.

“Looking for a malty tea blend,” Ser MacKraser gestured toward a servant at a buffet table. “Something strong. Not sweet.”

“Quite right!” The server answered, polite as ever. “Might this suffice, sir?” He offered the tea leaves. Tuncan nodded. The tea was poured into a porcelain cup and the highlander walked off with a plate of chai spice cake, cinnamon cake, lemon cake and apple cake. It was a battle of wits and appetite as he turned around, looked at the crowd, took little bites and sips. Indifferent? Not quite. Never mind the riddle.

Beatrice Orabela

 

[Petrus Ritus Iskandar]

Spoiler: The Drip

Among the first to arrive was a luxurious carriage of black-and-gold. The golden sun upon a black horizon topped by a glistening crown of House Iskandar detailed upon the carriage, the accompanying knights, and even their cloaks. Stepping from the carriage Petrus Ritus Iskandar would have an unknown woman upon his arm, both of them not in the colors of his house but instead in a combination of cream and white.

He had, perhaps foolishly, commissioned a renowned seamster in Alliria to design his clothing for the occasion without knowing beforehand that the man would heavily incorporate a falcon motif into the ensemble. Petrus was... not a fan. But he maintained a dignified appearance as he helped Pneria down the carriage steps and through the gates.

Of course those present knew him, his House, and so they two of them were directed to the garden and he would murmur softly to Pneria.

"Remind me to remove that seamster from my contracted associates."

Before he would gingerly hand his female companion the card on which the riddle of the evening was printed.

"Should you be the first one to solve this, My Pneria, I shall let you keep the entire reward yourself."

With that motivation given he would gingerly guide Pneria toward the Lady Beatrice Orabela herself. He was, after all, not a man to waste time and had no qualms about approaching the woman directly. Rumors abounded that Petrus was now finally in the works of joining the ruling Merchant Council, an increase in status, in prestige, and power but the man remained much the same as he nodded respectfully.

"Lady Orabela, a pleasure as always, I fear with your return to public life the sun has a new golden rival in your hair and the stars bright rivals in your eyes."

Despite the flattering words Petrus gave them as flatly, as bluntly, as if he were reading a script before his very eyes. But he did not miss a beat before presenting Pneria and ushering her forward.

"May I present the Lady Pneria, my companion for the evening."

His eyes drifted after this introduction, noting a man with fiery red hair demanding a tea at his own table, and did not immediately recognize him. For now the man remained beneath his notice outside his stark features however.

Tuncan MacKraser​