Wedding Bash Finale
The day comes. You rise to find your wife already dressed in her own green dress, accentuated by harsh reds-- the manticore skin cape, too; aggressive, that.
Rising up, you pop open the trunk you brought with you. Rooting around, you pull out a fine doublet of black silk, your cloak of white draped over your shoulder, your Tilean boots of black-dyed leather, and the fine leggings, immaculately white. Finally sliding on your belt of white and gold-- the only such piece-- you might look dapper, about twenty years and twenty pounds ago. (It also doesn't help that your eye is missing, but that's just life.)
In any case, you take your wife in hand, guilt warring with something you refuse to name. This...will be the last time you touch for a very long time.
--
Reaching the palace, you are escorted to the dining room, where the feast itself will be taking place. Looking around, you can come to only one conclusion:
Castle Montfort is huge. On any unbiased foundation, it could be fairly described as the most fortified position in Bretonnia. Its towers are taller than pegasi can fly; its walls are so thick that cannonballs embed instead of shred. Its beauty is, too, obsidian black walls worked by dwarfs at the height of their power, worked in precise, geometric fractions that would make the artists of Tilea weep with tears that they would never match it.
The Phoenix King's palace is grander. Where Castle Montfort is a slap in the face, a challenge to the environment, the Phoenix King's palace works with it. Wide where Montfort is tall, it half-hangs o'er a cliff, dangling over a pool of water so deep that even your magical eye cannot pierce it. Three towers spiral into the sky, textured almost like a seashell, fading into the mountains, hidden. The walls are carved of well worked marble, the floors are paved with gold. Pillars of platinum and aluminum (!) hold up the great weight of the ceilings, which are themselves vaulted-- and so high that fifty men standing atop each other could not reach the top.
Balconies, filled with soldiers and guards watch the preceding. Banners of defeated foes hang from them, the captured war honors. The flag of the Black Ark Claw of Dominion, destroyed at Albion. The Heraldry of Malekith, slightly burned from where it was captured from personal force. The foul banners of the Firmir, slaughtered to the last and their evil vanquished.
It's a good collection, almost equal to your own. He has quality, you have quantity. (Besides, you don't see a Tomb King Pennant here)
At the center, the Phoenix King and his new wife--and the surprise that you just spoiled for yourself, way to go Phillip-- look over, resembling, for all the world, a god and his concubine. Near him are yet more trophies, the largest of which is a broken Druchii siege engine, easily as large as trebuchet. Wearing his recovered Phoenix Crown, he wears a warrior's raiment, a fine blade at his side that burns with magic.
Looking around, you see Ecalzarus-- the Elf you saved in Albion. He wears fine clothes, of reds and blues. Seeing you, he waves you both over, and you sit even as he pours you wine.
"Phillip."
"Prince."
You share a smile. Not that close perhaps, but you did save his life.
Before you can start talking, though, the Phoenix King rises from his seat-- and his court falls silent.
"Friends, allies, countrymen. This world is dark. Outside of the splendor of Ulthuan, people suffer. Our dark kin, the Druchii-- they kill, and slaughter, and ruin. The Four plot to drag all and everyone into ruination, and send us hurtling into madness. The greenskin ever ravage, all of us. As I speak, in hamlets and cities and in places with no names, good peoples of all nations and races battle and suffer and die."
A moment's respite, to let the words sink in fully.
"But the midnight must end. The dawn must come. The Sun must rise. Spring is born again. Darkness is never quite so strong, quite so permanent, as it would have us all believe. I believe we, working together, can make the night end. We can bring the sun. We can save the world, all of us."
Applause. Some of it merely polite, perhaps, but it was an altogether decent speech.
"In the spirit of that working together, I would like to honor those whose aid was so essential in bringing us the victories we have known so recently. Morgiana le Fay, you killed Hellebron, and for that we thank you." One of his attendants, a soldier, heads out and hands to her a small bundle of cloth; inside, terrible magics scarcely contained struggle against the very fabrics of reality.
"Phillip August Folcard, you killed Tullaris, and for that we thank you." Another attendant walks out to you, and with a flourish hands you Tullaris' repaired helm. It menaces, evil and spiked. You can see where your knife pierced, still, a bit...maybe. It holds the weight of ages in it, terrible though it might be. Even empty, a shadow seems to have lay on it, a ghastly thing, a mark of its dead owner's malevolence.
That one's going on the mantle.
On and on this goes, gifts for those who helped in the Manheim, who slaughtered the Dark Elves. For half an hour, to exacting details, those who did great work in defending the Old World from the depredations of evil.
Finally, it comes to the last. There is a hush profound over the room as Finubar begins to walk and talk, heading for Lady Talsyn. "And finally, it is with sorrow that I speak. Lady Talsyn, I cannot overstate, in the slightest, the deed your father has done for the world. Morathi the Hag-Queen was everything wrong with the elves, with us, distilled into a gruesome form-- gruesome, I say, for though beautiful it was coated in blood. It is sorrow to us all that your father was slaughtered. I promise you, there will be a vengeance, and before you are old you will get to Malekith dead."
He kneels before her, head low, and presents the whore-queen's blade to her, hilt first. She takes it, then, the shunt of steel on steel. "I present this blade to you, knowing its history, with a purpose. Its entire existence is evil, forged in wickedness-- but it might not always be so. It can be made a tool of strength. It can be wielded for good, in much the same way as one wields sorrow for strength."
He rises then, and looks to the court. "Now then, there is only just one last matter I should announce: Ilaithairax is pregnant."
Cheers, and then bottles of fine Elven wine are opened. A moment later, you hear the dwarfs grumble, as they do, and casks of ale are opened. Just sniffing it from here makes you feel like you just got punched in the face, and given they brought enough cups for everyone, it seems they feel like sharing.
Hoh boy.
--
You are hunched over the elf's shoulder, wine glass-- Cothique, 1000 Bretonnian-- in one hand, and dwarf mug-- fuck if you know, considering you like to taste your alcohol and not just get smashed by it-- in the other. "I...I've got a question for you, Excazurs. What's with the beard."
"'S not my-- never mind." He looks up to the sky, clearly amused. "I was wandering the wilds, as you do, when I saw something I could not accept: a witch, a Dark Elf, attempting to kill some travelers for money." He smiles. "Good times. But, as I struck her down, she gathered magic to try and curse me. Fortunately, the blood loss kept her from doing what she wanted. Unfortunately, it did do something. Let me tell you, human, it was bizarre coming back to the manor that day, the only elf in memory with a beard."
"Thas...that's terrible. Fucking Druchii. Kidnapping kids, cursing people... just, just the worst." You hiccup.
"You're not wrong, human."
"Wanna come with and kick 'em in the dick?"
A snort. "Sounds fun."
You fall over, Morgyan giggling. You raise up your arm, and circle with your finger. "woooo-"
--
Looking back on it, maybe you should have done what the Queen did and claimed to be pregnant. Your hair's long enough for it, and being dwarf's, the beard thing probably wouldn't knock you out of running as a woman.
In any case, you, at least, didn't get in any bar fights.
--
Results of Wedding Bash:
- Discovered Morgyan hid away your daughter Belicent for decades, sending her to train with the fay as a servant and warrior. This became the first big fight, though thanks to the location you were in you didn't raise all the hell you are going to.
- Gained Teclis's aid in rescuing the children of Manheim from the Dark Elves.
- Swore to aid the Estalian Campaign
- Decided to disappear with your wife at the end of said campaign
- Gained 400 Prestige (honored by the Phoenix King)
- Children: Lost 200 Prestige for getting into a bar fight with the Ar-Ulric
- Purchased gifts for your grandkids, spoiling them even more than they would be as the sons and daughters of nobility, including way-fancy dresses
--
Old World News to come, then turn 24.
Also, since it's Christmas, I'm feeling a bit generous:
Choose one Snippet thingy:
[] The Witch-King (Malekith)
[] Vampiric Fuckery (Ensemble of the VC)
[] The Mad-Bull (Taurox The Brazen One)
(This'll be called on Christmas Eve, to go up on Christmas Day)
