Duchess
Nu Guardian
Poetry is emotion put to measure.
Posts: 39 
|
Post by Duchess on Mar 29, 2014 22:39:34 GMT
There was the echo of a great, plate-crystal door as it closed, her giggles trickling down the halls and from the windows like little bells in the wind as she addressed the masculine voice within before closing him up behind that great door. The high Ivory Tower overlooked the all of Delia's estate, and yet, in that great place one could hear every bit of noise one would not normally hear, the noises one should NOT hear. The walls were of white stone, the floors of marbled tile, so when one walked, or spoke, the sound would travel with no bounds. Her heels clicked upon the interior terrain as she rushed down the corridor, hands worriedly tucking long strands of white back into place upon the top of her head. After settling her mussed hair-do, she tended to the task of pulling the gossamer straps of her gown back up onto her bare shoulders, the soft blue of the fabric contrasting heavily with her porcelain skin. Upon doing such, she shook out her arms, joints popping here and there as she stretched them to their full span, palms to the ceiling as she wiggled her fingers before dropping slender arms to her sides and continuing with purpose down the corridor.
Within twelve strides she had reached the staircase, which wound about the walls of the tower and led down into the very back center of the Main Hall. Bounding from the steps with utmost grace, she regained her footing upon the marbled floors and made her way toward the grand crystal doors, which sat embedded with silver and hints of rubies. For a moment she paused, her eyes bright in the dimly-lit hall. Lips fell open, limp and wan as she stared into the great courtyard and her prized rose garden just outside those double doors. She inhaled slowly, the air cool upon the back of her throat and in the passages of her dainty nose. Eyes fell closed while she in her head whispered a prayer to her Lady Velka that would put any Old World Daeva to shame. The breath she had so deeply drawn was then released, her eyes fluttering open as she stepped through the doors, so kindly opened for her by her guardsmen, and into the sunlight of the afternoon.
Delia's cheeks immediately blossomed into a soft pink, the spring sun warming her pale skin and sending its rays to warm her hair. A slight breeze blew on this day, and it drew the silver-white strands up into the air like tiny white flames. Her collar dazzled brilliantly in the afternoon sun, its ruby facets throwing red gleams upon the ground and statuary around her. A rare smile these beauties did illicit from our Lady Delia, and she stood there momentarily before ordering her guardsmen to open the gates in order for the commonwealth to flow in should they so please.
"Darlings... It is too lovely a day to keep my garden to myself."
|
|
|
|
Post by Grotesque Crusade on Mar 31, 2014 12:49:19 GMT
"Just another day it seems.." Saint Mitrias, The City of Light. It was known for it's prosperous civilization and aesthetically pleasing architecture. It flourished with life. Such a magnificent city as this had been blanketed in a warmth not of the sun but of the hearts of it's people. Smiles were common, frowns were frowned upon. The people of this fair city were overall happy with their life here. This was a city in which everyone was welcome, there had been no discrimination against who or what you were here. It was due to this that his presence would be required at one point or another. The time had come. Marchen Awakens.
What would a piece of paper do on such a beautiful day? Why, he would carelessly float in the wind of course. The small breeze sent him on his travels, allowing the wind to send him off to whatever destination it may. A few flips, whirls, and swishes, and he had arrived in the busier section of town. He'd take some odd amount of control during his travels, shuffling and making sure not to bump into any other civilians while floating about. "I hear the Duchess has opened her gates." these words grazed his paper skin, his general interest peaking "Should we go and visit?" a response "Yes, let's.". These words were all he needed to hear, his day was decided within an instant. Time to visit the duchess.
He attached himself to the back of one of the civilians speaking on the duchess, a mischievous face appeared on the paper as the guided him right where he needed to go. The estate was large and beautiful. There hadn't been many words to really describe it besides just that. He floated inside of the building, his travel form activating as he latched himself to the walls. While the citizens of the fair city would only be granted access to certain areas, Marchen intended to view every single aspect of this grandiose palace. With a crumpled smile, he watched for anyone who appeared to be the duchess. Once he found her, the fun would begin.
|
|
|
|
Post by Sol on Apr 9, 2014 15:35:50 GMT
Solar had arrived not much longer after the Duchess had opened her garden estate to the public, just after concluding his business some dozen miles away in Avalon. The lengthy, pale digits were of brighter contrast than usual, and he seemed more aware of his discomfort when riding in a horse drawn carriage. Was he depressed. It was an emotion unfamiliar to him. It made him uncomfortable. Uneasy.
The driver stopped at the estates grand gate, which opened to a magnificent garden, and subsequently, civilians who were minding the beautiful sculpting of the brushes into delightful shapes and figures. As he exited the caravan, he offered a polite, dipped bow, and the crowd returned a deeper, more polite bow in return. With a smile, and some brief interaction; A pat of the shoulder here, a clasp of the hand there, he continued into the greater foyer.
He found himself just several strides of his long legs before the Duchess herself, Dalia in all her esteemed beauty. He stepped forward and embraced her in his arms.
"Forgive me, I meant not to be late. With Cornelius' unprecadented funeral.... I am afraid I got held up. But that is for another time. We've much to discuss, or did you call me here for leisure only?"
|
|
Duchess
Nu Guardian
Poetry is emotion put to measure.
Posts: 39
|
Post by Duchess on Apr 13, 2014 2:53:27 GMT
There was a flutter, a whisper of parchment, and she turned momentarily to find that a sheet of paper had been blown against the white stone wall just inside the corridor. A brow arched, speculative, lips parting to question the mere thought of animated life before she heard a rather elated upheaval from the courtyard. Rolling her shoulders, she tore her eyes from the sheet of paper and turned her simmering eyes toward the chatter to be abruptly greeted by strong, familiar arms.
Delia smiled, her arms slipping with grace about his slim waist. She gave his frame a squeeze, though not so strongly as to hurt His Majesty. Uneasy, with the eyes of the citizens as well as the eerie feeling of being watched within her own walls, she dropped her arms and relinquished his warmth so as to smooth her gown and her hair. "There is a matter I wish to discuss with you, but I also would not mind spending time with an old... friend."
Petal pink lips curved into a smile, her right hand lifting to her throat to absentmindedly stroke the Emeral collar she wore. Very rarely did it come off, but maybe it would, as she often admired the curve of her bare neck in the mirror. It would not be a crime to try and find a suitor, would it?
She shook her head, dismissing the thoughts and more than likely setting her self up for a brow-raising from the King. That same hand lifted, her arm extending toward the staircase.
"Shall we?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Sol on Apr 13, 2014 19:54:02 GMT
In the latent recesses of his mind, Solar had always thought the Duchess beautiful. Fair skin that could match the Ivory City itself entered dreams of a less than fair nature. He could never entertain the thoughts, however. Dismissing them, he led her down the archway, a sudden expression of contrition sculpting against his chiseled cheeks and chin.
"Come with me."
He lead her through the estate, down a clamor of corridors and hallways, until coming to a circular room, riddled with hundreds of books. He took up a chair at a table, and placed one for her.
"I know you must have heard word of the unfortunate events in Avalon. There is work against us. The assassination of a king," The words tripped out of his mouth rather than flew. He ruminated for a moment on the years that he had known the great Cornelius Unum, and those final, sad moments that he could look upon his pale body. "Of a friend, is nothing less than an act of war. And I am of no chagrin to rebuttle."
He stood now, pacing, the tresses of his pure white cloak dragging across the carpeted floor, and dragging books that were strewn across the floor with its weight. He took notice of the disorderly chaos.
"You've been hard at work, Delia. Research into the Court of Nightshade?" He pickd up the tomes of Severus Conegali, the Deity of Black, and Misfortune in some circles. "What are you thinking? What are your thoughts on this transgression? I don't look to plunge into war, and I do not look to shy away from what is neccessary."
|
|
Duchess
Nu Guardian
Poetry is emotion put to measure.
Posts: 39
|
Post by Duchess on Apr 13, 2014 20:06:29 GMT
She followed, her mind flicking through the multitude of filings both memorial and tactical. Her steps were light, bare feet silent upon the marble ground as she followed His Majesty through the hallways. It was impressive he knew which direction the library was, for if one had never been to the castle more than a few times, one would find themselves lost quickly. It was curious, though, that the King had not often visited materially, but in a more...astral aspect. He visited her dreams every night, many a dream which left her sitting upright in bed, a cool sweat and beating heart indicating the excitement he brought with him.
Into the library, the smell of the glorious old parchment and the many scents of differently coloured ink pots upon her large, oaken desk. His white cloak was glorious in the close darkness of the room, illuminating th gilded edges of pages and throwing shadows across the dimly lit areas.
He offered her a seat, and she sat, her lips parting to blurt out her thoughts.
"War is coming, Sire. But what is more important than the war is what we will have to do after."
Soft eyes rose to his face, her chest rising as falling steadily, a calm queen in the face of danger.
"We have no way of supporting civilians when the war is finished. we will be in...grave debt. I believe it is in our best interest to propose a five-percent tax upon all purchases not only local, but also imported and exported. This money will be placed in a fund where we will use it to pay for weapons, bunkers, and all of the supporting facets the army will need. This way... we will not have to worry about the governmental funds, as we will use that money not in the War Fund to pay for repairs and the left over money in the Fund will be used to pay reparations to the families affected."
With that, she nodded, her back finding the support of the chair and one pale, gossamer-clad leg crossed over the other.
"That... Is what I think."
|
|
|
|
Post by Grotesque Crusade on Apr 29, 2014 1:28:00 GMT
The Duchess had been spotted. He wasn't exactly sure what she was up to with the graceful looking man, but it wasn't any of his concern. A soft ruffle, mocking the sound of laughter emerged from the paper. He removed himself from ceiling, floating down gracefully towards the floor. It was at this point that Origami Shift took place. Flight Form zipped through the crowds, brushing against the exposed legs of beautiful women along the way. Hey, who said papers couldn't be perverted? Continuing onward, he found himself in the dining room. Getting close. The top half of the paper searched frantically for his goal, only finding it once a chef had entered the holy land. The kitchen..oh..the glorious kitchen.. How he would create such a riot with this. The ruffle got louder his "eyes on the chef" as Origami Shift took place once more...Let the festivities begin.
The grand chef was a large Russian man. He was jolly, had a hearty laugh, and was always kind to others. That was until he entered the kitchen. The kitchen was his battleground. Everyone who entered should either be prepared to fight a war or get burned in the process. On this particular day he was fighting the biggest battle in his life. He had to cook for The Duchess. Nothing was a bigger honor than this. Well, aside from cooking for the ruler himself. He could make no mistakes, this was life or death. He didn't know it, but everything was about to go wrong..so wrong..
It only took the scream of one to get the attention of many. The women cleared the room within a second. Pots and pans were thrown on the ground as the men ferociously slammed at the stove. "What is going on here?!" The man howled. It wasn't until every single prepared dish had made contact with the floor, did he find the answer he was looking for. A large black rat stood tall and proud, cheese in hand as he nodded his head slowly. "You...you...you RAT! You disgusting rodent! I will wipe the floor with your bloodied corpse!" The ruffle grew louder as the rodent ran away at blazing speeds. Foolishly, the chef chased after him. Marchen had grown mischievous, the fun train was taking off for landing. Unfortunately for The Duchess..it was just beginning.
It started in the dining room but spread through the hall. Screams had become contagious. Women lifted their legs in shock and the stomps of men grew fierce. The entire event was crumbling to pieces. The rodent zipped through the hallways and headed up the stairs, taking shelter in a near by waste basket. The Guards, angered by the commotion, began searching the entire estate for the source of the problem. It would only be a matter of time before The Duchess caught wind of this little incident. Marchen had completed his mission. The riot had grown too powerful to be controlled. Should anyone catch him, he would burst through the doors and find his way out. This, as he planned, turned out to be quite the fun experience. Now all he could do was sit back and watch the madness unfold.
|
|
Saarlitha
Nu Guardian
Telling me you have no words
Posts: 3
|
Post by Saarlitha on May 7, 2014 20:34:13 GMT
On such a warm spring day, a winter maiden could do naught be feel out of place, uncomfortably warm in what she had originally hoped to be the cold weather north usually pertains.
However, Raesa stood in the gardens, silver-white hair absorbing the sunlight as she watched the chaos silently. Had she been inclined to show emotion, her wry grin would have alighted her face, or she would have shook her head at the folly of the mind. However, her stoic expression betrayed nothing, her body set in it's stance. Legs placed firmly, arms crossed over gleaming silver armour. Her blue eyes scanned the building's exterior as she continued to ensue from inside.
Turning away, she walked through the garden, armour clanking quietly with every step. Ice was on her back, but she seemed to feel no threat, confident even. Her back straight, shoulders back, head held high. Her skin was ivory in the light, features cold, if not unkind. She stooped at a single white flower, kneeling to look at it closer. The metal rustled as she did so.
After a few minutes, she stood up, looking around. She wondered if her peace would be broken soon, though the shouts were still distant. Her left hand's fingers twitched as if recalling something, muscle memory instead of brain, and she stood silently, taking to walking around the gardens again.
|
|
