votivescholars | The Engagement Ceremony of Viatorus and Ingirun

Welcome to the world of the Durants...

Guests from the Nexus are met by an Isidor who is still dressed for business when she PINpoints them directly to the venue. She is on a mission and pleasantries are swiftly exchanged so that she can give instructions and explain how the day is going to go. The first thing to hit them is that it's hot, and bright. They are now in France, Isidor tells them, her narrative changes appropriately as she leads them from the small stone building, through immaculate gardens and towards a sprawling palace which she insists is small for what it is. This is the home of Gnonyma Durant, her grandmother. A 17th Century French palace once owned by royalty but was gifted to her family as thanks for 'a service' which Isidor says was so private that even the mage's journal doesn't detail what it was.

The air is dry and still, which makes the cool shade of indoors a pleasant relief. Like the ornate facade, the interior of the building is lined with intricate mouldings; decorated with impressive portraits; painted in bright, colourful shades; and filled with flowers and draping fabric. There is plenty of space, a fact emphasised by tiled floors that amplify each step and word. It looks as though almost every room is being used, from the way all the doors are held open for the steady flow of traffic. They are, however, let through the building and out another door. It's the quickest way to where seats sit lined up to face a gazebo decorated with ribbons and flowers that stands in front of a pond that might as well be a lake. Some people might notice the air above them ripple slightly, which certainly has nothing to do with the perfectly ornate poles at each corner of the seating area.

There are already plenty of people milling about. Servants stride from one place to another, expertly staying out of the way of the guests. There are some men and women who are dressed well for the occasion, but like the servants they stay out of the way and scan the area repeatedly, making no attempts to engage with the guests - security, judging by their earpieces. Members of the Durant family are easy to spot. They move in groups or pairs, often getting headed off by people looking to talk to them. A large majority of them also sport sashes of either red or purple with gold trim and ornate pins that vary from person to person. This, Isidor explains, is how you spot a patron and an accomplished scholar, based on the red or purple respectively. Viatorus is not yet an accomplished scholar, which is why they have no sashes. Members of Runa's family are equally easy to spot for those that know her. They would be the large group of tall, golden haired men and women with the distinctive Swedish accents happily talking to anyone and everyone.

After guiding them to their seats she tells them that the ceremony will be another twenty minutes and takes her leave to go and sort out the other numerous things on her endless list. Nobody bothers them while they wait. Everyone is too busy spotting old friends or making their way to their seats. It's a good time to enjoy the scenery. There is a small collection of musicians with harps, violins and flutes to one side. Even the breeze is smelling sweet with the perfume of the bouquets.

Within fifteen minutes Viatorus appears in a tailored suit of light grey and deep purple. He is closely followed by an older, stocky looking man in a black suit and purple tie, and sporting a red and black sash that is even more ornate than any others. Whatever the man is saying to him Viatorus barely gets more of a wave of recognition in to his friends before he's being guided to the gazebo and kept there. Shortly after he's joined by a young man and two women with tanned skin and black hair dressed in simple, but high quality clothes of purple, draping fabric. They look as serious as the man beside Viatorus. That is about the time Isidor reappears in more appropriate attire. She in turn heralds the appearance of a woman who shares her features, dressed in elegant gold and black, who is accompanied by a man whose black suit and purple tie are considerably more simple than his purple sash. Its intricacy matches that of the red one worn by the man standing next to Viatorus. The mood seems to shift at the appearance of these last two guests, becoming quieter, expectant. The Durants gather together, and Viatorus' fidgeting increases tenfold as they exchange words. The men with the sashes and the woman in gold take their seats, many of the guests follow suit.

The ceremony begins...

The young man in purple walks with his staff to stand at the head of the aisle and asks that everyone takes their seats. Exactly twenty minutes after the Nexus guests were shown their seats, the ceremony begins. The young man introduces himself as the high priest of Despoina and welcomes them to the union of the two families Durant and Nyström. As it is a ceremony to mark the union of two families with two sets of tradition and two sets of gods to honour, this will be a merging of these two cultures. It will be a handfasting ceremony of the Old Ways, he explains. This means that the couple will be as man and wife for a year and a day, and after that time they must choose if they wish to marry or separate. The guests now better informed, the priest stands back under the gazebo where a nervous Viatorus and patient Isidor stand waiting. On cue, the musicians start playing unfamiliar, but pleasant music to introduce the arrival of Ingirun dressed in white and accompanied by a rounded, red cheeked man, and followed by a woman who must certainly be one of her sisters. Once she was beside Viatorus, Ingirun's father sat down and the ceremony began.

The priest talked of uniting the two families, naming the virtues of both, as he got the bride-and-groom-to-be to hold hands which he bound in ribbons. He then took them through their vows before invoking the gods and goddesses to bless the union. The mixture of Greek and Norse deities made for a complicated blessing that might have been compared to seeking the approval of two powerful families. With wishes given, the priest unwrapped their hands and had the betrothed drink from the same cup. All in all it was a short ceremony as ceremonies go. A few more blessings were given and then the couple were prompted to kiss to seal the pact, which a bright red Viatorus did, very timidly. Luckily that only made Runa beam more brightly than she already was.

Dinner was in a large hall with close family at the head of the room and everyone else seated at round tables. Every position was carefully chosen, of course. The inevitable speeches came from the father of the bride (who rambled joyously about how happy he was to see his daughter with such a fine young man) and the mother of the groom (who gently, warmly, welcomed Runa into the family and spoke of how proud she and his father were). Drinks were plentiful, as were the courses. There were six in total with a selection of each: Appetisers, soup, fish, the main course, dessert, and a palate cleanser. No one will be going hungry tonight, that's a certainty.

After dinner it's Isidor who stands to say a few last words. She thanks everyone for coming and instructs them to enjoy the evening and all the festivities which "will go on at least until dawn". With that, guests are bid to go and enjoy the entertainment filling the palace.

And now for the party...

There isn't a single place that isn't being used for the party. The gardens have pleasant music playing in them, chairs and tables laid out with cushions and blankets for people to lounge in. One of the largest halls is set out for dancers and their spectators to enjoy live musicians that will play ballroom music for the first part of the evening and be replaced by a band that plays modern music for the second. There is a small room of bookshelves and leather armchairs where men congregate to sip whiskey. Rooms with couches and chairs have people moving in and out of them joining and starting conversations. The priest tends to three statues of goddesses that stand at the end of one room. Here he collects gifts and offerings for the couple's happy future. A man with a perfect smile enthralls a crowd with stories that are only exciting because of the way he tells them. A demure woman facilitates a conversation between straight backed men with chiseled features and shorter tanned men who look equally as disciplined. Servants are found throughout, bringing drinks and snacks to anyone who asks or so much as looks as if they're considering either.

((Feel free to backtag, threadhop, start threads, look for more NPCs, whatever you like! If you're unsure of something, looking for more details, or want to plot then you know the drill - Send a message my way and we'll chat!

Note about gifts: It will say on your character's invitation that gifts are optional and it is suggested that a gift to the gods/goddesses would be more than suitable instead.))

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

westfallcorndog

Harrowheart follows quietly and with a respectful nod and smile for the priestess. If anyone at this party could be the victim of a Cask of Amontialldo-style scheme it must certainly be him, because he sees nothing wrong with any of this. Though, unlike Felix, he isn't inquisitive about the ritual reagents they might need. After all, why would he be? He's content to stand in the center of the room absorbing the visual details of it all as he holds his sword over the shoulder without a decorative metal pauldron.

Finally he does think to ask, though, "If the binding is off, we're not redoin' it here, are we? We're just gonna check, that's all. Right?"

While he speaks the runeblade presses against Felix's mind, urging him not only to continue, but to do it with haste. What if someone comes along to disturb the ritual? What if they see what you are doing and become curious themselves? What if they touch the blades, Felix? There was an ever-so-curious woman watching them with such delight earlier. It would be a shame if she were to follow in and stop your work...

From:

conjuredskies

Felix seems preoccupied, busy running his fingers over the various boxes of earth and salt, feathers and small pouches and bottles. "Right. I didn't come equipped to negotiate." He looks around then, rolling a leftover sprig of foliage in his fingers. His eyes track past Harrow to the door. "...And I wouldn't care to perform something so sensitive in a house full of, hm, 'inquisitive' mages. It was risky enough the last time."

Here the blades meet some competition, because thinking about all that makes Felix painfully conscious that he has no delicious vampire souls to offer this time. No leverage to protect him. That has his sense of self-preservation getting very antsy indeed. He's going ahead, of course, but... best be wary.

Now... charcoal, charcoal... here's a stub, good enough. No soul gems, of course. Felix frowns, then turns on his heel and strides past Harrow to lean out of the door. There's his flaming atronach, faithfully keeping watch - and drawing more attention to the room they're in. He gestures her inside, to one of the corners. Maybe he can use the daedra to help power a ward...

Ah, yes. Better have her put the rest of the presents down first.

From:

westfallcorndog

Harrowheart watches the atronach with some trepidation. It looks awfully... On Fire. He holds his glowing sword a little tighter as he eyes her warily, but eventually he accepts that if she's Felix's elemental then she's probably safe.

With only some hesitance he eventually sets his blade down in the center of the room so that Felix may draw any runes around it that he likes. It floats upright of its own accord with its twin tips hovering just above the ground, quiet momentarily as it waits to see what Felix has in store for it.

"Remember not to touch it," Harrowheart whispers across the room. "Otherwise, do whatever you need."

From:

conjuredskies

"No, no, no touching. I know." He finds a box of half-used candles - they're all black and red for some reason, but suspicious sniffing suggests the wax is just dyed. Felix sets eight of them out around the sword, then kneels and gets to work with the charcoal. Despite his unfamiliar surroundings, his hand is sure and quick as he marks daedric symbols and ward lines out inside the circle, correcting any that his robes smudge. This isn't the first time he's set up a ritual in a hurry.

When he finishes the runeblades are at the center of a small array of markings. Looked at right, the way they line out puts the eight candles at the points of an outlined star. Felix surveys it all for a minute, then turns his mind to the atronach. It glides around and lights each candle in turn for him, apparently heedless of Harrow's feelings about its proximity. At last it settles in its own spot within the circle, waiting patiently.

Felix pulls his hood up and lifts his hands, anchoring familiar wards onto the foundation of the atronach and summoning circle. It's a pared-down version of the set he used at their last meeting: binding the blades not to harm the caster, not to leave the circle, not to try going off on some sort of rampage. Maybe he puts more of his own will behind it this time. He's been practicing. At last he pauses to try and clear his mind, focus himself for the important - and dangerous - part of all this. Invoking the god of wisdom seems pointless in this foreign realm. He murmurs a few Altmeris words to Magnus instead - Lord of the arcane, fount of all power, guide my will, give me strength...

"The wards are holding," he says quietly, eyes on the blades. "I'm going to try examining them without... making direct contact, this time." Beneath the hood his eyes shift to Harrow. "Without sending you into a trance."

Part of him is keen to try. He's sure he can do it the way he intends this time. With Harrow's assent, he'll step into the circle himself, mind reaching out to examine the magic that binds these blades. He knows they're watching. He can feel their presence in his wards, all that lethal power just... waiting.

From:

westfallcorndog

Harrowheart is still unfamiliar with Felix's particular style of magic, but as he watches the process unfold he realizes that it isn't so dissimilar from the sort of thing he might see on Azeroth – especially, he recalls, from the necromancers he's seen practicing their craft. And so when Felix assures him that there will be no trances he's visibly put at ease and finds himself quick to nod seriously.

The blades, for their part, remain suspiciously quiet until Felix steps into the circle. When they find they suddenly have company – and such amenable company he is.

They impress upon him a sense of comfort, of calmness. In this binding circle – no, in their presence – things are right. They are not dangerous. Quite the contrary, they are a protecting force, and one which welcomes Felix into its shade. Most importantly, spiritually they are the same blades. The same twin mind that Felix contacted not so long ago. Their imprint is nothing but familiar in every way. These blades, though they may be fused as one, still know Felix. They still know his magic, too. The deal he struck with them still stands. Because you are a good mage, Felix. A powerful mage. One capable of wielding tremendous strength....

Strength such as them.

From:

conjuredskies

He's doubted himself, these past weeks. To Felix it's started to feel like everyone doubts him. And not his honesty or his moral uprightness or his courage or anything so trivial. No. His usefulness. The very worth of having him around. And what's worse, part of him has begun to wonder about the same thing. He'd ridden on his sense of accomplishment after their last encounter, only to have his strength burn out pathetically when the time came for real battle.

So it's a deep relief to step into the circle and feel those wards wrap around him, steady and secure as ever. Even jury-rigged in this strange place, his magic works. He approaches the runeblades and this time there's little fear to hide. He senses no threat from them. On the contrary...

Carefully he reaches out toward the sword, hands keeping a safe distance from the blade while he reaches out to get a sense of the magic on them. Our bargain holds? He can feel them acknowledge it. They have no reason to lie. He's not sure they comprehend lying. That's a pointless affectation, to minds as clear-cut and purposeful as theirs.

And yet he doesn't immediately speak up and inform Harrowheart what he's learned. Not so soon. It's so nice to feel like a proper mage again, at the center of a skillfully enacted ritual instead of fumbling over flame spells he'll never get the hang of. Could Stratos handle this? Could anyone else they know? No-one with half the wits to be trusted, that's for damned sure...

But it's not enough, is it? Walk back out of this circle and how long will that feelng last? He still won't have the skill to aid his brother or fight the Dominion. Won't have the influence to protect Jim - and what power it would take to do that...

From:

westfallcorndog

To Felix, the time he spends so close to the blades must feel so mercilessly short... But Harrowheart stands outside the circle for a long, long while watching, waiting to hear something as Felix loses himself to his thoughts. No, to his magic, certainly. The death knight doesn't know how long the communion should take, and so is hesitant to stop the ritual despite how uncomfortably long he's been waiting to hear something.

Eventually, after much time has passed, he quietly and hesitantly asks, "Felix? Is it through? Is the binding still?..."

From:

conjuredskies

Harrowheart's voice - outside noise, intrusion - breaks the very long moment Felix is having with the blades. His head jerks a little and he realizes he's been standing there longer than he intended.

But he doesn't want to look like he's just been standing around so he lifts a finger briefly to silence Harrow - just a minute or two more, please. He frowns more intensely, as if he's making absolutely sure of what he senses. He's really going to miss this feeling. Is this what it's like for Harrowheart wielding these blades? Feeling safe under the wing of their power, knowing they won't harm you...

Time to go, though. Time to go. He gives a nod so Harrow can see. Bids the blades a silent farewell, pulling his mind back. He has to turn around and step straight out of the circle, before he thinks about it.

"The binding holds," he says, not looking up at Harrow for a moment. He needs to do more real conjuration work. That was far too enjoyable. "It wasn't as easy to be sure of without making direct contact, but I made certain." He smiles then, rather pleased. "And without needing to put you under at all. I knew it could be done!"

Oh. Wait, wards. Let him just take those down. Let the atronach float back over to collect the presents.