Open Chronicles The Blue Mountain Gala

[HotepseAken]

The road had been long; the Grand Physician had taken a portal stone to bridge the valley of distance from his latest expedition when the High Priests had convened. An invitation had, somehow, found their Necropolis. Obviously the messenger was waylaid and turned around some miles before the exact location could be found, and a few human bandits diverted into his path had seen to that he could not continue to seek their enclave. Still, after slaughtering the tools the invitation was discovered and promptly read before the Priesthood.

Nerudjac groaned audibly at the idea, while Ptarunet showed boredom with the entire meeting. Master of Ceremony Sobudzon proposed they simply ignore the invitation, but the Anaphite had at least made an effort in the past. It would be quite rude, they eventually agreed, to simply ignore it. Dunestriders would be an insult, likely, given their place in Anaphite society. Likewise their fiery temper would be ill-received. A proper Tomb Knight wouldn't be anywhere near as patient as would be necessary for diplomacy, leaving only a member of the Priesthood. As it happened, HotepseAken was one such priests. A high-priest even, and a frequent traveler. Further, the Pharaoh of the Gnolls had requested the Anaphite accept the invitation on her behalf; furthering the survival of Iterulon at the cost of diplomacy could cost both, thus the ageless ancients opted to act.

Even as he neared the gates of this impressive stone edifice, the Grand Physician couldn't drum up a proper reason why he had decided to go. Tutsokhopsis had come with him, a veteran Tomb Knight that had grown up with HotepseAken back when he called himself Imset-Setmat. It seemed fitting for the two friends to go out on another adventure together; besides, Tutsokhopsis had actually met with this Dragon long, long ago. They weren't so old then, and the march of time had certainly worn on them. HotepseAken was a gentler sort, and Tutsokhopsis more patient and calm.

A pack of Orcs passed by the two, leaving. They rapidly cut a wide bearth from the Anaphite; a few mentions of 'Demon', 'Ruin-Wraith', and 'Desert Spectre' emerged from them in superstitious babble, though neither Anaphite even bothered watching them leave. They did listen, however, noticing 'Alert the master' among their ramblings. Whoever they were, it was unlikely to be of importance nor interest to the ancient Anaphite. They continued their climb, announcing themselves quietly and with respect to the host as they waited to be permitted entry.

They waited... and waited. Burning amber eyes surveyed the smaller Dragonfolk with mild disinterest; they checked over the invitee-list a few times now, looking for what dignitaries were supposed to come from Amol-Kalit, though HotepseAken had corrected him twice now that "Unknown" was indeed a location.

"I suspect your mistress will be pleased with your diligence," Tutsokhopsis said, turning to look over at HotepseAken, "yet I think she will be at least somewhat pleased with our offering in gift, if we were to interrupt."

HotepseAken nodded, his silver eyes turning down with his snout to regard the Draconic knight, "Indeed; any intrusion we present would be remedied with our tribute in peace. Accompany us if you wish, we do not mind the guards."

The Gateman thought for a moment, weighing his options. They weren't on the list, but... it was a tribute, and they were merely two. He nodded, motioning for a few others to escort them; "If they are pleasing to the Mother, then leave them be. Otherwise, politely lead them out."

The two Anaphite nodded, ears pivoting slightly; they offered thanks in a pecularly stoic manner, that is to say, they nodded in acknowledgement and nothing else. One could not speak of the Anaphite without atleast using some synonym for 'statuesque', a reputation the two could clearly live up to.

They entered the grand Palace of Dragons together, not nearly as marveled by the sights as others might be. Unlike the Elves, Humans, or short-lived races, this level of magnificent opulence wasn't something alien to the inscrutable Jackalmen. The Palace was certainly grand, and the two felt a sense of satisfaction in its construction and splendor, but having come from a culture where such works were the norm... it wouldn't awe the two.

As they entered the central hall, where the Matriarch Kerathari was holding audience, HotepseAken cast a glance to Tutsokhopsis. In the least flattering display he thought he had seen all century, there was a commotion of foolishness from a dramatic Dragon.. thing, the stink of undeath, and more childishness from supposedly Wise folk than either anticipated having to tolerate tonight. Humans were one thing; HotepseAken thought they were adorable with their vainglory and ego, while Tutsokhopsis only truly thought a creature over five centuries was worth listening to. Any point before then, they were liable to have wrong opinions.

HotepseAken produced the small pouch holding the tributary gift: A jeweled, golden Scarab. It was no larger than the palm of a man's hand, yet each gem was intricately scrawled upon in hieroglyphic texts, proclaiming protection, good health, and warding against malign spirits. To the undead in the room, the Scarab emerging from the pouch was as if a thunder storm had errupted from the Jackalman's hand. Countless rituals, wards, and spells older than any existing civilization had been tightly woven into this small icon. HotepseAken had collected the spells and wove the sacred blessings himself, as was custom. It likely wasn't any precious trinket to rival the great artifacts of an ancient dragon's horde, but certainly a treasure worthy of addition. Perhaps even use, if it suited the ancient Blue Dragon.

The two Anaphite waited, respectfully, to be called up. HotepseAken's scales were down, the two bowls gently bobbing as if struggling to predict the weight between both sides. Tutsokhopsis leisurely scanned around, his scalloped double-axe hanging across his back with no concern towards drawing it. The Guards, likewise, seemed at ease; these two mystery foreigners were well-mannered and demonstrated respect towards their Matron. That had to count for something, they figured, as to their intentions... though, just a single piece of jewelry? They were a bit skeptical these two would be permitted to stick around for too long.

 

[Acteon Cass]

The smile on Acteon's face took on an odd presence to it when Ánië Táralóm responded to him. It was cryptic yet ominous. It was a hint or a whisper at some kind of truth that was never revealed. But it would only last the span of a blink then was gone for good. A slight slip of a mask that only the actor knew they wore.

Back to his friendliness, Acteon spoke. "I find it rather easy to fool those who bare expectations coming into things. If one thinks they will be greeting kings and queens it is as easy to make them believe you are one by simply giving them what they expect."

Acteon would give her a little wave to lean in closer to him with a look on his face that seemed to suggest he was going to share a secret. He would lean in as well regardless of if she did and say in a half whisper more in jest of whispering than in truly doing so, "I hear that is what actors do on stage in their plays."

With that Acteon just returned back to standing straight. Small talk was so easy to do. It was an art form that he had inherited and learned from his parents. Despite his little joke though the conversation moved onto the subject of the host of the party and her relation to this woman's people. It seemed they had been expecting this, which got a raised brow from Acteon.

"Oh? Now this is a history I do not know and a story I wish to hear. Please, do elaborate for me Mistress." Acteon said to her with a true glint of interest in his eye. There was more to this party than he had originally expected.

 

[Ánië Táralóm]

Acteon seemed an interesting person. She had never thought any ill of the humans, despite a particular swordsman's quite vocal opinion of them, though his conclusions had quite likely swayed her own perception of them toward something that was perhaps only half true. The man was deceptive, but hardly in a truly malevolent manner - so far as she could tell. But a liar was a liar - something unheard of in Sharyrdaes, hardly even possible in fact.

She gave a confusing blink before leaning in at his behest, curious to what secret he sought to share.

"I hear that is what actors do on stage in their plays."

For a moment she was unsure of what he was insinuating. Another confused blink, before she turned her head to the preformers and like the sudden strike of a flint she realized his meaning.

Oh, he's joking.

She leaned back, and a sweet melody that was free and pure escaped her lips, hidden behind the tips of her fingers. She was quick to stifle the joyous sound, quietly tittering until her composure be regained.

She hadn't heard a joke in centuries. The Aeraesarians were always such a formal sort - there was no time for affairs of enjoyment such as these anymore, and even when there had been they were much more... dreary. They were ornately decorated, well catered and accompanied with enntertainment of Sharyrdaes' most talented performers - but they were official, and dry. There was hardly ever any laughter.

"Oh? Now this is a history I do not know and a story I wish to hear. Please, do elaborate for me Mistress."

Ànië nodded her temporary farewell to Acteon as he made way to involve himself in matters she was certain she wanted no part of - at least for now. Whatever discussion was taking place was attracting some very curious attention, the likes of which she was yet uncomfortable associating with.

So, she was left to herself and the pair of knights who were her immediate accompaniment whilst the others stood by elsewhere.

HotepseAken produced the small pouch holding the tributary gift: A jeweled, golden Scarab.

In an abrupt but fluid motion, her head quickly turned and her eyes fixed upon the item. A brief illumination in her eyes as small rings formed, and spun as she examined it. There was a great, and ancient power tied to it - one that was easy for someone of her ability to detect. Her eyes traced up from it, to examine the figure holding it.

In that moment the surprise she first experienced was dwarfed by that which came on upon her realization of just who it was who came bearing such a gift. An Anaphite.

She turned her head away, and grew apprehensive. They were storied kind, and some stories she had heard fueled the chill that ran down her spine at the sight of them.

However.

If the proper stories proved to be true... then it would be prudent for her to gain an audience with them before their departure.

 

[Acteon Cass]

The hostess, Kerathari , had some kind of connection with Ánië Táralóm people. An alliance. Allies in war. Blood was spilled together. It was certainly deep ties to have. For soldiers and mercenaries it was one of the most bonding experiences you could have. He could understand that from his own history as both a guard and sellsword. The merchant half of himself would understand it as a long term client that continued to use your services even in the hardest of times. A truly deep contract that was not signed in ink on paper.

But before Acteon could learn a thing his party companion was off. Something to do with the dog man that walked in. A pretty trinket had been held up and that was about as much as he understood it to be. One could not blame a blind man from seeing after all and so the same was true for those lacking the gift of magic.

Acteon just gave her a little wave good bye and made sure not to follow. There was undead in that direction and he did not wish to disturb.

Back to the wandering the Allirian went. From attraction to attraction he wandered about. His stops were more to eavesdrop and partake of food or drink more so than to socialize. This trip had been about gathering information as much as making impressions after all, and the man knew he could make an impression. But it was easier to learn things while unnoticed. So until he needed to be seen he did his best to blend in and seem just another face in the posh crowd.

 

[HotepseAken]

The exchange of gifts, the swapping of promises of respect and accommodation, as well as a pleasantry from Tutsokhopsis regarding how well Kerathari had grown into her motherly position as matron of the Blue Dragons, was done and over. HotepseAken was just about done socializing for the evening, and Tutsokhopsis was likewise ready to leave, but departing early would be a bit of an insult. Besides, this was a perfect opportunity to procure information, freely given knowledge of the wider world. Many boastful artisans and nobles were eager to talk a big game, something that could shed a glimmer of truth upon a land not seen in years, at best.

And so the pair stood, away somewhat, listening. Their massive ears twitched, pivoted, and swivled around. They weren't picking up every conversation, just the important ones. Whispered conversations were difficult to pick out, though not impossible. Likewise, ignoring the rowdy and loud was a challenge though one that the veteran Anaphite were familiar with. HotepseAken was inclined to joke some with Tutsokhopsis, though he didn't bother with it for now... then again...

"Longeye," called Hotepse quietly in Anaphite, low enough to not distract over much, "smells like the river Tal."

Tutsokhopsis smiled suddenly, tensing briefly at the memory of their last real outing; he was, of course, referring to a rather nasty shipment of spices from a long-gone kingdom floating down the flooded river Tal elsewhere in the world, a stench of mud and incense that felt as if a bazaar had opened in the middle of a floodplain. The scent of spice in the air, the extravagance, was certainly palpable.

A few moments longer, then the two would depart. Home called, and it would be best if they did not tarry over long.

 

[Ánië Táralóm]

Following their transaction with Kerathari, the two Anaphite envoys found themselves a place away from most of the others. They was a majesty to them: their posture was kingly, and they carried themselves with a unintrusive air of importance - something they wore quite naturally, to the extent that none seemed to question its apparent truth. Such was often the view of such ancient creatures, and when she approached she too offered a level of reverence and respect.

She came before them, lowering her hood and with one hand against her chest she bowed her head, "blessings, my lords. If you could spare a moment of your time."

She offered to them the most pleasant sound her voice could afford, still with great formality but laced with sweet benevolence. And she held her gesture, awaiting their response.

HotepseAken​