Adracanta - Old blood, new Hope #1
Apr. 18th, 2009 07:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessStill pushing this around, though I have a fair bit on my plate atm. Still, I shall splurge it down and poke it when I have the time
Riasfarren growled with irritation at the mirror in front of him, the glass vibrating to his bass growl. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he wondered why, if his family were so very proud of their draconic heritage and the draconic blood that ran through House Golden Chalice’s veins, they made so little effort to accommodate draconic stature.
“Because people with draconic blood or bloodlines rarely stoop to housekeeping and their staff are left to guess what adaptations need to be made.” An acerbic voice rasped behind him.
Riasfarren turned quickly to look down at his father‘s Matantor, blushing furiously. “Forgive me, Draenis, I meant no criticism.”
The old man sighed, for a moment losing his habitual scowl. “It has been a long time since we last saw your like. We have forgotten much. After the ball I shall speak with you to correct this.” He nodded his grizzled head decisively and strode out of the room, not waiting for an answer, leaving Riasfarren to cringe with guilt. Draenis had served his father for more years than Riasfarren had seen, he deserved better than that.
Shaking his head to put the thought aside, he bent to try and see as much of his 9 foot frame he could manage in the 6 foot tall mirror. He sighed, his hair was as untameable as ever and no matter how he twisted he couldn’t see his wings. He couldn’t even examine his clothes since they were scrunched up from him crouching like an ogre in a mine. He straightened, carefully settling his wings so they didn’t rip the too-tight cloth round his shoulders.
He had delayed long enough, it was time to grace the Grand Ball celebrating the Unity of the Three Peoples with his presence. Preferably before the Three Peoples started killing each other. It wouldn’t be a Unity Ball if there wasn’t at least 3 weapons drawn, it was almost tradition. Maybe that would change now there were actually adult Half-Dragons present. It had been too many generations since new draconic blood had joined the noble families and now two at once. It had to be a sign. Maybe the Unity Ball would actually be about Unity for the first time in decades.
Pulling his cuffs straight, carefully avoiding tearing the cloth with his claws, he strode from the room. With every step he passed pictures of his House’ history. There, the picture of his distant ancestor giving up all he was to the dragons for their aid. There a gold winged man held a pass alone against a hundred Orcs. There, his mane flashing in the setting sun, an ancestor flew with a great red dragon to life the Orcish siege of Caleforth. There, scales gleaming in the dappled light under the trees, an ancestor presented the Dracanta, the Tear of Dragons to the Elves as proof of their worthiness to rule over all humans and stand with the Sylvan folk as friends and allies. There, an ancestor shone brilliantly as he battled through the eerie magics during the Angrekaren rebellion. A hundred heroes were depicted on canvas in these halls. Each a half-dragon and each a saviour of his people. He wrapped the pride of their history around him, armouring himself in their courage and their purpose. He felt the light burning within him until his brilliant blue eyes cast shadows ahead of him.
“Never underestimate the power of a show.“ His mother had once said, in the few times the great Golden Dragon had talked politics. Always impress your audience, never let them forget who and what you were - do not demand their respect, claim it. Wrapped in his power he strode, shining and perfect, into the hall; giving the herald no time to announce him. All conversation ceased, even the musicians faltered mid note as all eyes fastened on his towering figure
“Lord Riasfarren the Gold of House Golden Chalice, scion of Adracanta, Child of Tears.” The Herald belatedly announced into the silence
Riasfarren spoke, his deep honeyed voice filling every corner of the room effortlessly. “My Lords, My Ladies, Our most noble guests. You honour me with your presence. It lifts my heart to see the Three People here together in strength and Unity. I thank you for coming and I thank you more for your service to the Peoples.” Riasfarren bowed low, spreading his wings wide to their full extent. The guests gasped and stepped back as the great golden pinions glittered brilliantly in the hot sunlight streaming through the high windows.
Riasfarren stood, smiling at every eye upon him and walked down into the room. The crowd’s gazes followed him, awe, shock, reverence and fear writ large on nearly every face. Nearby nobles drifted to him, local nobility taking advantage of House ties to be the first to speak to the dragon-child. Greater powers crested through the crowd, elegantly straining to be the first to be seen speaking with the golden Half-dragon.
But his own eyes were drawn across the room, to where a second pair of wings stretched towards the ceiling.
Ebon scales seemed to eat the light streaming through the windows. The other Half-Dragon stood head and shoulders and more above the crowd. His skin was so pale it nearly glowed, made more luminous by its complete lack of shadows. He met Riasfarren’s gaze across the hall. The dark voids of his eyes showed no emotion, but his lips were quirked in rye amusement under a think black moustache. He stopped stroking his thin goatee and brought his clawed hands delicately together in silent applause.
The first notable had reached him, distracting Riasfarren’s attention in through the necessary duty of formal introduction. When he glanced back, a scant few seconds later, the other half-dragon was gone
Riasfarren growled with irritation at the mirror in front of him, the glass vibrating to his bass growl. For what seemed like the hundredth time, he wondered why, if his family were so very proud of their draconic heritage and the draconic blood that ran through House Golden Chalice’s veins, they made so little effort to accommodate draconic stature.
“Because people with draconic blood or bloodlines rarely stoop to housekeeping and their staff are left to guess what adaptations need to be made.” An acerbic voice rasped behind him.
Riasfarren turned quickly to look down at his father‘s Matantor, blushing furiously. “Forgive me, Draenis, I meant no criticism.”
The old man sighed, for a moment losing his habitual scowl. “It has been a long time since we last saw your like. We have forgotten much. After the ball I shall speak with you to correct this.” He nodded his grizzled head decisively and strode out of the room, not waiting for an answer, leaving Riasfarren to cringe with guilt. Draenis had served his father for more years than Riasfarren had seen, he deserved better than that.
Shaking his head to put the thought aside, he bent to try and see as much of his 9 foot frame he could manage in the 6 foot tall mirror. He sighed, his hair was as untameable as ever and no matter how he twisted he couldn’t see his wings. He couldn’t even examine his clothes since they were scrunched up from him crouching like an ogre in a mine. He straightened, carefully settling his wings so they didn’t rip the too-tight cloth round his shoulders.
He had delayed long enough, it was time to grace the Grand Ball celebrating the Unity of the Three Peoples with his presence. Preferably before the Three Peoples started killing each other. It wouldn’t be a Unity Ball if there wasn’t at least 3 weapons drawn, it was almost tradition. Maybe that would change now there were actually adult Half-Dragons present. It had been too many generations since new draconic blood had joined the noble families and now two at once. It had to be a sign. Maybe the Unity Ball would actually be about Unity for the first time in decades.
Pulling his cuffs straight, carefully avoiding tearing the cloth with his claws, he strode from the room. With every step he passed pictures of his House’ history. There, the picture of his distant ancestor giving up all he was to the dragons for their aid. There a gold winged man held a pass alone against a hundred Orcs. There, his mane flashing in the setting sun, an ancestor flew with a great red dragon to life the Orcish siege of Caleforth. There, scales gleaming in the dappled light under the trees, an ancestor presented the Dracanta, the Tear of Dragons to the Elves as proof of their worthiness to rule over all humans and stand with the Sylvan folk as friends and allies. There, an ancestor shone brilliantly as he battled through the eerie magics during the Angrekaren rebellion. A hundred heroes were depicted on canvas in these halls. Each a half-dragon and each a saviour of his people. He wrapped the pride of their history around him, armouring himself in their courage and their purpose. He felt the light burning within him until his brilliant blue eyes cast shadows ahead of him.
“Never underestimate the power of a show.“ His mother had once said, in the few times the great Golden Dragon had talked politics. Always impress your audience, never let them forget who and what you were - do not demand their respect, claim it. Wrapped in his power he strode, shining and perfect, into the hall; giving the herald no time to announce him. All conversation ceased, even the musicians faltered mid note as all eyes fastened on his towering figure
“Lord Riasfarren the Gold of House Golden Chalice, scion of Adracanta, Child of Tears.” The Herald belatedly announced into the silence
Riasfarren spoke, his deep honeyed voice filling every corner of the room effortlessly. “My Lords, My Ladies, Our most noble guests. You honour me with your presence. It lifts my heart to see the Three People here together in strength and Unity. I thank you for coming and I thank you more for your service to the Peoples.” Riasfarren bowed low, spreading his wings wide to their full extent. The guests gasped and stepped back as the great golden pinions glittered brilliantly in the hot sunlight streaming through the high windows.
Riasfarren stood, smiling at every eye upon him and walked down into the room. The crowd’s gazes followed him, awe, shock, reverence and fear writ large on nearly every face. Nearby nobles drifted to him, local nobility taking advantage of House ties to be the first to speak to the dragon-child. Greater powers crested through the crowd, elegantly straining to be the first to be seen speaking with the golden Half-dragon.
But his own eyes were drawn across the room, to where a second pair of wings stretched towards the ceiling.
Ebon scales seemed to eat the light streaming through the windows. The other Half-Dragon stood head and shoulders and more above the crowd. His skin was so pale it nearly glowed, made more luminous by its complete lack of shadows. He met Riasfarren’s gaze across the hall. The dark voids of his eyes showed no emotion, but his lips were quirked in rye amusement under a think black moustache. He stopped stroking his thin goatee and brought his clawed hands delicately together in silent applause.
The first notable had reached him, distracting Riasfarren’s attention in through the necessary duty of formal introduction. When he glanced back, a scant few seconds later, the other half-dragon was gone