#worldlyseer

[braveryinblue]

Among those slain by conquest that razed the farthest reaches of Elibe, it had been said, perhaps, that one of the greatest losses was Ostia’s Lord Hector. Having met the man only a small handful of times at most, Prince Myrddin remembers him best for the booming thunder of a laugh he would bark before any of the numerous achievements attached to his name.

Fodlan is the last place Elphin expects to encounter anyone of his likeness, and he masks his surprise in a feigned air of indifference. “Pardon,” he beckons, approaching. “A lively affair this ball is, is it not? This might be the first moment I’ve had for myself all night. What would you recommend?” Hand gestures towards the long, narrow table host to the refreshments provided for the event though nothing truly appeals to him. It is merely a means of initiating conversation.

"Hm?"

Now who's this?

"Lively's one way of putting it..." It's an answer mumbled before he remembers himself. Fist curls to his mouth as he briefly clears his throat. "A busy evening, yes," he better affirms with his more typical, assured volume. He shrugs. "Not really my pace, so you'll have to forgive me if my small talk is lacking."

Not if, but when, really. Just a matter of time.

On the topic of food, however... Perhaps the other has struck gold.

"Hah! You might regret asking - I'm not picky, I'll have you know. Let's see now..."

He looks Elphin over a moment, single brow quirked in appraisal. A lithe individual, fair... And a bard, from the looks of it. Hector frowns.

"I was going to suggest the cheese ball sticks but you probably need your hands clean, huh. Mm."

A snap of his fingers.

"On second thought, you can just use a napkin, so yeah. Go for the cheese ball sticks. OR, if you're feelin' feisty, just grab a fistful of the shrimp."

He nods. Yeah. Good stuff. Then, scratching idly at his cheek, he grins sheepisly. "Hard to go wrong with anything on the menu, really. Think they tried their hand some fare from abroad, even... Might find something from home..."

A pause as he plucks one of the aforementioned shrimp into his mouth. "... Wherever home is for ya."

[illeoneardito]

His sight may waver due to forces outside control, but let it be said that Elphin never moves about blindly. Prior to the journey to Fodlan, he studies much of the land’s history. The documents he receives report that the Church of Seiros holds influence in all three of its largest territories though to varying degrees. Fine, embroidered tapestries depict momentous occasions in time that he suspects a source of great pride to be so carefully rendered in detail.

“What do you make of these scenes?” he innocently asks the young Lycian lord, gaze remaining on the adornments.

Naturally, he had been aware that Roy was an attendee of the academy. It was, in fact, his primary argument in favor of his own enrollment. The Three Generals of Etruria had justifiably been against the decision, but his father, King Mordred, is the one whose consent held the most weight.

“Not being a native myself, I am afraid I know little of its triumphs.”

While Roy has not long been a visitor to Fodlan, Elphin expects him to have done his due diligence and takes an interest in gauging how much he has learned and grown since last they met. The time to discuss the particulars of his appearance will come later.

His expression remains unaffected when finally he turns, but the small, polite smile he offers betrays hints of amusement. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord.”

Politics, as Roy has already well learned, is a game. A game one plays whether they want to or not, and a game where the stakes can range from reputation, through material gain, and all the way to life and death.

Sometimes, he would give a brief thought to the idea that, during the conflicts he had been involved in, his own safety and well-being was likely in danger more times than he knows of - than he will ever know of. Who knows, perhaps even now, at the time of peace restored, there are some who would delight in seeing him and his father dead. Animosities don't die so quickly; he is an idealist who wishes for peace and jor for all, but not an incurable optimist.

All that is to say that Roy is not surprised to see Prince Myrrdin continue on with the aforementioned game even here and now. Under normal circumstances, the Pheraean would not take kindly to one who deceived him for months, but as the news flew across Elibe and rumors abound were proven or disproven enough for him to piece the story together, he could not help but understand.

Politics is a game most dangerous, and this man has seen the worst of it in more aspects than one.

And so, Roy finds himself playing along, smiling lightly to mirror the bard's amicable expression as they face each other.

"I myself arrived to Fódlan a while too late to celebrate the anniversary of the great battle that shaped this land's history," he responds, his tone calm and fluid. "But to study the event is not difficult - almost everyone is able to tell at least a piece of the story, if not recite all of it from memory."

To an outsider who does not know better, his gestures are perfectly neutral; but for the proper person, it is not hard to figure out that the Pheraean knows more about what he's doing than what he lets on.

"The sentiment is mutual. It will be a pleasure to study by your side. Please let me know if there is anything I can assist with. I haven't been here for too long yet, but I know my way around by now."

[concealedbybreeze]

“Were you invited to play tonight as well?” Elphin begins by way of greeting, soft cadence of his voice barely rising above the din of merrymaking. He does not believe himself mistaken in recognizing the billowing garments that robe the man to suggest his profession. While it is certainly true there is no single rule of dress bards are required to adhere to, his instincts are seldom faulty. “If you are so inclined, I would freely relinquish the audience to you.”

"Hm?" Was that voice--delicate as birdsong--speaking with him? Lewyn turns on his heel to find another of his kind: a fellow troubadour, easily recognized by someone in the same trade. He supposes it's sort of like how thieves could instinctually tell each other apart from the commonfolk: just some sixth sense they had as bards. "Takes one to know one, I suppose." Lewyn's voice, though soft indeed, has a much more confident tone to it. It's cool, and wags about on his silvered tongue, "But come, friend. We ain't gotta be mutually exclusive. How about a duet instead? What do you play? I've only got my lyre on me, but I can run out and grab something to compliment what you've got."

[nagargent]

Last he checked, there were some… colorful conversations taking place on the board posted for all to give voice to their private thoughts. Elphin derives no enjoyment in the squabbles of siblings and political quandaries they find themselves in. The scene they cause in one corner of the grand reception hall is all too telling of their identities. A sigh passes through him as he apathetically peruses some of the less antagonistic notes left.

Elphin has no grievances of his own to air, but he does partake in a different way. Earlier, he’d left some riddles he had encountered in reading, curious as to who might be able to solve them. And, to his surprise, indeed someone has. Judging by the handwriting, it appears to be by the same person that both are unraveled. He huffs something between a laugh and a hum, regarding the initials penned: JvC.

“If I may have a moment of your time,” Elphin addresses the lone girl he can recall having lingered in place at the spot as if lost in thought. “I believe we may be of like mind." Cryptic, it may sound, but if she is clever enough to deduce the riddles, he believes she will understand.

Julia stands by the board, hoping her mysterious friend has left another riddle for her. She knows whoever this person is hasn’t left them for her specifically but they have been a welcome distraction this evening. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t been enjoying herself, Scathach has been a perfect gentleman to her and everyone she’s spoken to had been so very kind. There are times though, when the crowd whirs around her, that she feels as though she can hear every single heartbeat in the room. Feel every joy and sorrow upon people’s faces as they glide past her. 

She finds it overwhelming and retreats here, browsing the notes. Her heart breaks for the siblings that are fighting - that’s a situation she knows all too well. Some of the notes are quite mean, other’s much lighter in jest. A few catch her attention enough to warrant a reply - the cheerful person known only as ☆k☆ is so sweet she can’t help but cheer them on. Then there are the riddles; the longer one had really left her baffled for a while. She’d enjoyed the challenge though, the time it took to read through, connect the patterns and consider possibilities she may not have otherwise. Whoever it was, she’d like to thank them personally.

There are no new ones though. She picks up a pen, thinking about leaving her own behind when someone calls for her attention.

“Good evening, it would be my pleasure,” Julia greets the man with a soft smile. He’s beautiful, not just in appearance although she is admittedly taken aback by his features - but in the aura around him. She cannot quite place her finger on it but she thinks it has to do with the way he carries himself and the intensity of his gaze. His eyes seem to convey secrets that are perhaps to never be revealed. He carries a harp of sorts at his side too, perhaps a bard. If they are of like mind... then perhaps he is the mystery man behind her riddles. Julia allows herself a quick, small giggle of excitement. To be sure though she would have to dig deeper. Asking outright felt too direct and abrupt, not when everything she knew about this man so far whispered cryptic subtlety. Perhaps, she’ll try posing one of her own. It may not be as sophisticated as his own but she hopes it’s enough to confirm his own suspicions about her. “Could you humour me, if I asked you a question? It may be a little silly but...”

“What runs but never walks, murmurs but never talks. What has a bed but never sleeps and has a mouth but never eats?”

[glassmemoir-blog]

worldlyseer started following you

"Hey there, Sugarplum! Wha' can I do fer ya?"