From the moment that Harrowheart and his sister, Anna, arrive on Earth, arm in arm, each of them loses all pretense of their former selves.
Anna, who took Runa's advice when shopping for a dress, arrives in a turquoise damask party dress that shows off her suntanned skin and is brightened by her blonde hair curled around her shoulders. She's a tall woman without much of a figure, but that's nothing a dress with a forced waistline can't fix. She holds a matching coinpurse in both hands and seems glad for something to keep her grounded. Normally a woman with a sense of dignity, she can't help but stare in awe and smile, starry-eyed, at everything she's seeing. A party like this... A castle full of the upper class, scholars, mages, servants in attendance to wait on them – No, her! It's like a dream come true, but better, really, because she's not sure she could have imagined something as wondrous as this evening.
Harrowheart, however, is quite the opposite. While normally he's the one to hang his mouth open and gawk at everything that surprises him, tonight he's tasked with a mission: Be serious, though friendly. Be powerful, yet approachable. Be himself, but a more mannerly self. Above all he must make a fantastic impression – or at the very least not a bad one. He's gone to great lengths to dress in the sort of outfit that King Anduin himself might have worn when he was Prince. By Earth standards he wouldn't be out of place in the Regency period with his high collars, large lapels on a dusky purple vest, and cream-colored slacks tucked into high, leather boots. A thick, leather scabbard is slung across his back to keep his runeblade close, yet hidden. Under the scabbard is a split, two-piece cape with darkly purple swords woven onto a lighter purple surrounding. A silvery metal shoulderplate is the only hint of armor on him, and in lieu of a tabard of the Ebon Blade he wears a purple cloth belt that drapes down the front of his legs. His cold hands are kept hidden beneath soft cloth gloves and bound to his wrists with thick, leather bracers. In his free hand he carries what is certainly a bottle of wine wrapped in purple cloth.
As Isidor leads them through the castle he wears a grimly serious expression, but his curiosity is unmistakeable in the way he hangs on her every word and takes in the scenery with quick motions of his head. While they wait for the ceremony to begin he sits stiffly, moving only to whisper with his overjoyed sister.
But when Viatorus first appears his facade immediately cracks. He smiles warmly, and there's even a hint of pride in his eyes, as if he were seeing one of his own brothers going through with this ceremony. He and his sister whisper happily between themselves until the man in purple arrives, at which time both of them remember their manners and return to silence. But their stoicism isn't meant to last, as Runa soon appears with her father and sister at her side. Anna squeezes Harrowheart's leg, as if he might miss Ingirun's entrance otherwise, and he watches with a broad smile. The kiss with which they seal their temporary union is too sweet to ignore, and both Weatherhills can't help but quietly clap for their friends.
Dinner isn't a difficult affair for the two of them, who spent a considerable amount of time studying etiquette since receiving their invitations. Cutlery is to be used outward, then inward. Elbows never touch the table. One piece of food is cut at a time, words are never spoken with food in the mouth, reaching is completely out of the question. The help is there to help, after all. Anna compliments every round of food before she takes her first bite and after her last, and Harrowheart keeps it (mostly) to himself that he'd have liked to bring his phone to photograph it all.
When it's time to give offerings to the goddesses the two of them present their gift: Inside the cloth sack is indeed a bottle of wine in a bipyramidal bottle with a strangely long neck. The dark liquid inside glows with a faint light and a not-so-faint magical energy. Arcwine, Harrowheart explains, directly from the fruit of a tree infused with the energies of the Nightwell, a font of tremendous arcane power. What he, of all people, did to procure it remains unsaid. It's a gift! You never tell what you paid for a gift. He does hope aloud, though, that one bottle is a fair gift for multiple goddesses. He jokes (with only a little regret after) that it might be part of the first meal they get to share together.
And then it's on to the party. Light, it's a free-for-all. There are no rules, no guides. One survives on their wits, tenacity, and willingness to kill make pleasant conversation with the upper crust. It's a notion that the well-read Anna isn't at all intimidated by; whether she knows Earth's culture or not, she knows she'll be able to entertain and be entertained with a little bit of bravery and a good attitude. She might even meet some fellow Nexus denizens as she goes along!
Harrowheart, though... He tries hard not to eyeball the alcohol passing by him and absolutely seeks Nexusgoers before Earth's stuffy mages. He's going to need a warm-up before he moves onto the heavy stuff.
Harrowheart and his Sister Anna
Anna, who took Runa's advice when shopping for a dress, arrives in a turquoise damask party dress that shows off her suntanned skin and is brightened by her blonde hair curled around her shoulders. She's a tall woman without much of a figure, but that's nothing a dress with a forced waistline can't fix. She holds a matching coinpurse in both hands and seems glad for something to keep her grounded. Normally a woman with a sense of dignity, she can't help but stare in awe and smile, starry-eyed, at everything she's seeing. A party like this... A castle full of the upper class, scholars, mages, servants in attendance to wait on them – No, her! It's like a dream come true, but better, really, because she's not sure she could have imagined something as wondrous as this evening.
Harrowheart, however, is quite the opposite. While normally he's the one to hang his mouth open and gawk at everything that surprises him, tonight he's tasked with a mission: Be serious, though friendly. Be powerful, yet approachable. Be himself, but a more mannerly self. Above all he must make a fantastic impression – or at the very least not a bad one. He's gone to great lengths to dress in the sort of outfit that King Anduin himself might have worn when he was Prince. By Earth standards he wouldn't be out of place in the Regency period with his high collars, large lapels on a dusky purple vest, and cream-colored slacks tucked into high, leather boots. A thick, leather scabbard is slung across his back to keep his runeblade close, yet hidden. Under the scabbard is a split, two-piece cape with darkly purple swords woven onto a lighter purple surrounding. A silvery metal shoulderplate is the only hint of armor on him, and in lieu of a tabard of the Ebon Blade he wears a purple cloth belt that drapes down the front of his legs. His cold hands are kept hidden beneath soft cloth gloves and bound to his wrists with thick, leather bracers. In his free hand he carries what is certainly a bottle of wine wrapped in purple cloth.
As Isidor leads them through the castle he wears a grimly serious expression, but his curiosity is unmistakeable in the way he hangs on her every word and takes in the scenery with quick motions of his head. While they wait for the ceremony to begin he sits stiffly, moving only to whisper with his overjoyed sister.
But when Viatorus first appears his facade immediately cracks. He smiles warmly, and there's even a hint of pride in his eyes, as if he were seeing one of his own brothers going through with this ceremony. He and his sister whisper happily between themselves until the man in purple arrives, at which time both of them remember their manners and return to silence. But their stoicism isn't meant to last, as Runa soon appears with her father and sister at her side. Anna squeezes Harrowheart's leg, as if he might miss Ingirun's entrance otherwise, and he watches with a broad smile. The kiss with which they seal their temporary union is too sweet to ignore, and both Weatherhills can't help but quietly clap for their friends.
Dinner isn't a difficult affair for the two of them, who spent a considerable amount of time studying etiquette since receiving their invitations. Cutlery is to be used outward, then inward. Elbows never touch the table. One piece of food is cut at a time, words are never spoken with food in the mouth, reaching is completely out of the question. The help is there to help, after all. Anna compliments every round of food before she takes her first bite and after her last, and Harrowheart keeps it (mostly) to himself that he'd have liked to bring his phone to photograph it all.
When it's time to give offerings to the goddesses the two of them present their gift: Inside the cloth sack is indeed a bottle of wine in a bipyramidal bottle with a strangely long neck. The dark liquid inside glows with a faint light and a not-so-faint magical energy. Arcwine, Harrowheart explains, directly from the fruit of a tree infused with the energies of the Nightwell, a font of tremendous arcane power. What he, of all people, did to procure it remains unsaid. It's a gift! You never tell what you paid for a gift. He does hope aloud, though, that one bottle is a fair gift for multiple goddesses. He jokes (with only a little regret after) that it might be part of the first meal they get to share together.
And then it's on to the party. Light, it's a free-for-all. There are no rules, no guides. One survives on their wits, tenacity, and willingness to
killmake pleasant conversation with the upper crust. It's a notion that the well-read Anna isn't at all intimidated by; whether she knows Earth's culture or not, she knows she'll be able to entertain and be entertained with a little bit of bravery and a good attitude. She might even meet some fellow Nexus denizens as she goes along!Harrowheart, though... He tries hard not to eyeball the alcohol passing by him and absolutely seeks Nexusgoers before Earth's stuffy mages. He's going to need a warm-up before he moves onto the heavy stuff.