The Grand Chancellor was anxious, pacing about his oak-laden office, anticipating the arrival of the foreign dignitaries. This was certainly a tense time for him, dealing with such a large audience of delegates arriving at any time now. The message was pure and simple; travel south along the Shtamo Milutin for those up north until they reached the Lyelant Pass; they'd recognise it with the memorial stones, and the small Regiment present upon their arrival (they were also advised to bring dining wear for the banquet). The Fel'ce would find little issue with following the Shtamo Milutin, due to their inherent familiarity through their expeditions from Polemarchy Lands. Something told the Grand Chancellor that the Fel'ce could guide the northern factions til they reach the Shtamo Milutin and they'd go on from there. The Caelnyan Republic might even send a ship (or even a fleet) to rendezvous to the Voyvodaal of Starmovan, mostly likely docking at the Grand Port of Kazagrod. Anticipating that, the Grand Chancellor contacted the Voyvoda of Kazimira prior to their arrival, hoping aggressive negotiations would be minimal. He especially contacted the Voyvoda of Alsvanya to escort the Skáldri Matriarch through the Kaminyiks (Marches/border lands) and follow the Shtamo Vladimiyi to Starmovan.
The Court of Grand Prince Dragomir was alight; Cup-bearers, Marshals and other officials of the regional cities gathered in, setting up the chandeliers and replacing the worn out banners depicting the heraldic sigils of House Shpadavich and Clan Dukar. The courtiers rehearsed routinely in their greetings, although the Grand Chancellor knew that it wasn't all that necessary in the long run. The banquet hall was also in the natal stages of being setup, with food and drink aplenty adorned upon the incredibly long oaken table. Despite all the preparation, Dushko remained anxious. He wore his formal robes, adorned with the finest filigree and floral patterns. He truly looked the part for a deliberative assembly, although his anxiety would be considered unprofessional. They knew not of his worries and should remain so. Whether in a saddle or a chair, morale remained high, and to notice their 'commander' anxious would surely drop their spirits.
At the Lyelant Pass, Zhaneshnik Petro with a Regiment of mounted knights, spearmen, and crossbowmen remained, overlooking the memorial site. Petro sighed, turning away from the gravestones with their alphasyllabic writing, characteristic of the Vilkan tongue. Having fought in the Battle of the Lyelant Pass of 51 GRE, he harboured many twisted memories of this place. But then again, he also earned the highest military award through this battle. That thought comforted him, like a baby in a mother's loving arms.
Petro wore a full suit of steel armour atop a mighty destrier, with his cup-bearing serpent sigil adorned on his tabard and a golden rampant dragon crest upon his great helm. His purpose was nothing more than to overlook the incoming guests and to repel any Imperial Separatists activity, should the need arise. His deputy, Radomir bore the banner of the Regiment, mounted alongside Constable Petro. The Zhaneshnik showed little in ways of anxiety, well, the helmet mostly masked his true feelings. Radomir sensed something upon seeing Petro turn away from the memorial. Knowing his officer, his answer would always be 'nothing' when asked of his plight, so he remained silent.
The contingent's backbone was made up of poorly trained peasant spearmen, although a prominent force amongst the Regiment was the mounted knights (Boyars) and men-at-arms. Despite their professional look, anxiety was high amongst them as much as the Grand Chancellor back in his oak-laden office. These soldiers were brought up from vassal families who were ignorant in regards to open warfare, with Separatist activity being minimal ever since the Battle of the Lyelant Pass. The Regiment could potentially hold off a skirmish, but in an open battle, they'd likely perish. That wasn't there purpose here; they were simply an escort for the incoming dignitaries.
The Court of Grand Prince Dragomir was alight; Cup-bearers, Marshals and other officials of the regional cities gathered in, setting up the chandeliers and replacing the worn out banners depicting the heraldic sigils of House Shpadavich and Clan Dukar. The courtiers rehearsed routinely in their greetings, although the Grand Chancellor knew that it wasn't all that necessary in the long run. The banquet hall was also in the natal stages of being setup, with food and drink aplenty adorned upon the incredibly long oaken table. Despite all the preparation, Dushko remained anxious. He wore his formal robes, adorned with the finest filigree and floral patterns. He truly looked the part for a deliberative assembly, although his anxiety would be considered unprofessional. They knew not of his worries and should remain so. Whether in a saddle or a chair, morale remained high, and to notice their 'commander' anxious would surely drop their spirits.
At the Lyelant Pass, Zhaneshnik Petro with a Regiment of mounted knights, spearmen, and crossbowmen remained, overlooking the memorial site. Petro sighed, turning away from the gravestones with their alphasyllabic writing, characteristic of the Vilkan tongue. Having fought in the Battle of the Lyelant Pass of 51 GRE, he harboured many twisted memories of this place. But then again, he also earned the highest military award through this battle. That thought comforted him, like a baby in a mother's loving arms.
Petro wore a full suit of steel armour atop a mighty destrier, with his cup-bearing serpent sigil adorned on his tabard and a golden rampant dragon crest upon his great helm. His purpose was nothing more than to overlook the incoming guests and to repel any Imperial Separatists activity, should the need arise. His deputy, Radomir bore the banner of the Regiment, mounted alongside Constable Petro. The Zhaneshnik showed little in ways of anxiety, well, the helmet mostly masked his true feelings. Radomir sensed something upon seeing Petro turn away from the memorial. Knowing his officer, his answer would always be 'nothing' when asked of his plight, so he remained silent.
The contingent's backbone was made up of poorly trained peasant spearmen, although a prominent force amongst the Regiment was the mounted knights (Boyars) and men-at-arms. Despite their professional look, anxiety was high amongst them as much as the Grand Chancellor back in his oak-laden office. These soldiers were brought up from vassal families who were ignorant in regards to open warfare, with Separatist activity being minimal ever since the Battle of the Lyelant Pass. The Regiment could potentially hold off a skirmish, but in an open battle, they'd likely perish. That wasn't there purpose here; they were simply an escort for the incoming dignitaries.
The Skauldri didn't normally venture too deep into Vilkan territory. They preferred to skirt along the Veliki Steppes, butting heads with the Vilkans and the Kozaks, then disappear into the high wilderness like the wild storms they channeled. The fact that this particular Matriarch had decided to journey to this council meeting was unheard of.
The Skauldri approach wasn't difficult to miss, though as dignitaries' entourages go, it wasn't terribly large. Twenty-five væmmiski-ur tramped their way along the Shtamo Vladimiyi, heads low and horns swaying. They were varying shades of grey, brown, and white, and their large feet left the dirt and frost tightly packed in their wake. Væmmiski were known to stidja (non-Skauldri) as woolly rhinoceri, and these particlar specimens also had their nose horns decorated with rattling bone bangles and sharpened to deadly points. Upon each beast perched two Skauldri warriors. Compared to the Vilkan contingent, they were a seething mass--each was dressed and outfitted differently, though all were armed and armored to the teeth. Polearms, polehammers and nets were favored weapons. Among them were several Đymnruldi, as indicated by the markings smeared above their eyes with white clay.
At the heart of the mass of væmmiski towered a lone mammoth, its shaggy brown pelt decorated with all manners of trinkets: bones and stones, feathers and leathers, trophies taken from enemy clans and victims of raids. Long plaits had been woven into the beast's fur and tied with brightly colored cord. Upon its back sat a driver and a howdah, crude compared to Vilkan architecture but nonetheless sturdy and impressive. It bristled with bone and wood spikes, though its intention was clearly for display, not warfare. Crude banners hung from its four poles, crafted from pale leather and emblazoned with a roughly-drawn symbol of two crossed curving shapes that represented væmmisk horns, one red and one rusty orange. Two of the riders near the front carried similar banners.
This was the symbol of Clan Thorføst, and upon a woolen pillow in the howdah was Uthavauld, Thorføst's matriarch. No other Skauldri chief would deign to meet with lesser peoples, but Uthavauld saw something of worth here. She sat cross-legged and swayed from side to side with the mammoth's rhythmic pace. Her dark eyes betrayed nothing as she approached the city of Vilkyigrod.
((I have no idea if I'm doing this right, lol. Just let me know if I should ever zoom out or in, since idk what level of detail I should focus on for this RP style!))
The Skauldri approach wasn't difficult to miss, though as dignitaries' entourages go, it wasn't terribly large. Twenty-five væmmiski-ur tramped their way along the Shtamo Vladimiyi, heads low and horns swaying. They were varying shades of grey, brown, and white, and their large feet left the dirt and frost tightly packed in their wake. Væmmiski were known to stidja (non-Skauldri) as woolly rhinoceri, and these particlar specimens also had their nose horns decorated with rattling bone bangles and sharpened to deadly points. Upon each beast perched two Skauldri warriors. Compared to the Vilkan contingent, they were a seething mass--each was dressed and outfitted differently, though all were armed and armored to the teeth. Polearms, polehammers and nets were favored weapons. Among them were several Đymnruldi, as indicated by the markings smeared above their eyes with white clay.
At the heart of the mass of væmmiski towered a lone mammoth, its shaggy brown pelt decorated with all manners of trinkets: bones and stones, feathers and leathers, trophies taken from enemy clans and victims of raids. Long plaits had been woven into the beast's fur and tied with brightly colored cord. Upon its back sat a driver and a howdah, crude compared to Vilkan architecture but nonetheless sturdy and impressive. It bristled with bone and wood spikes, though its intention was clearly for display, not warfare. Crude banners hung from its four poles, crafted from pale leather and emblazoned with a roughly-drawn symbol of two crossed curving shapes that represented væmmisk horns, one red and one rusty orange. Two of the riders near the front carried similar banners.
This was the symbol of Clan Thorføst, and upon a woolen pillow in the howdah was Uthavauld, Thorføst's matriarch. No other Skauldri chief would deign to meet with lesser peoples, but Uthavauld saw something of worth here. She sat cross-legged and swayed from side to side with the mammoth's rhythmic pace. Her dark eyes betrayed nothing as she approached the city of Vilkyigrod.
((I have no idea if I'm doing this right, lol. Just let me know if I should ever zoom out or in, since idk what level of detail I should focus on for this RP style!))
The Skauldri and their delegates truly stood out amongst the Hilar merchants travelling along the mostly desolate Shtamo Vladimyi. Of course, a Zhaneshnik of Alsvanya promptly escorted the delegates through the intricate roadways, after being introduced by a Heraldic Envoy of the Zhaneshnik's genealogical lineage. They passed through the Ruden Basin and the many quaint and rural villages of the Voyvodaal's counties, plotting along the Shtamo Vladimyi. They were escorted by a regiment of Clan Ruden mounted Boyars and indiscriminant spearmen, likely of Sebri descent. They formed a large circle around the delegates, almost attempting to hide the massive Væmmiski from the prying eyes of the citizenry. It was no good, of course, for many-a Vilkan their eyes remained fixed upon the woolly monstrosities (or were they?) that plodded through their villages, the Peshniks of these villages routinely coming up to the Zhaneshnik and demanding an explanation. This slowed their progress to the capital. The architecture was typical of a snow-borne people, having largely basic design, with overlaying tiles for roofs and some made of thatch. The church's were very dome-like in appearance, albeit they were rare amongst the hastily constructed roofs of both the landed Vlastelich, and the commoner Sebri.
The Grand Chancellor's anxiety suddenly halted in focus to the envoy bursting into his room. "My Chancellor! Forgive de intrusion, but de Matriarch has arrived!" He smiled and waved him away, telling him to greet them as best they could. And with that, the envoy rushed out, assembling a small Banner of Heralds like him, along with the Archbishop of Nova Dukari. They wore the characteristic attire of Clan Dukar, with a tabard depicting the Clan's Arms; a depiction of a four quartered shield with a dagger, a knife, a sabre, and a horn upon a red field, a mighty sword laid perched atop the shield. The archbishop wore colourful patterns of white wolves and golden embroidery, along with a foot high mitre with equally beautiful embroidering. The group of them rode out on geldings, out of the mighty gates of the Vilkan capital and towards the mighty Dukar Field.
Once greeted to the Regiment escorting the Matriarch and her delegates, the Envoy dismounted, pulling out a scroll and began reading from it, the archbishop coming into view with a golden cane. The Zhaneshnik heading the regiment moved out of the way to reveal the Matriarch and her dignitaries upon the Dukar Field, at the forefront of the mighty gates of Vilkyigrod. The mighty domed spires and colourful spires standing out amidst the pale white snow.
"Upon de grace of his highest honour, de Grand Prince of Commonweald, and his reverence Grand Chancellor Dushko Yakovets Novadugrevich of Clan Dukar, ve velcome you Starash Udavauld! Upon Vilkan snow ve hope our hospitality is to your liking and dat your stay is prosperous! Upon Vilik's vord ve hope you can respect our traditions as ve shall respect yours!" His Common was broken, that was for sure.
The archbishop nodded and lifted his golden cane. He chanted a seemingly peaceful blessing to the Matriarch in Ecclesiastical Vilkof, the written and sacred tongue of Vilkan culture. After he was done, he lowered his cane and bowed alongside the heralds. "Vilik and his children bless you, Starash Udavauld."
The Grand Chancellor's anxiety suddenly halted in focus to the envoy bursting into his room. "My Chancellor! Forgive de intrusion, but de Matriarch has arrived!" He smiled and waved him away, telling him to greet them as best they could. And with that, the envoy rushed out, assembling a small Banner of Heralds like him, along with the Archbishop of Nova Dukari. They wore the characteristic attire of Clan Dukar, with a tabard depicting the Clan's Arms; a depiction of a four quartered shield with a dagger, a knife, a sabre, and a horn upon a red field, a mighty sword laid perched atop the shield. The archbishop wore colourful patterns of white wolves and golden embroidery, along with a foot high mitre with equally beautiful embroidering. The group of them rode out on geldings, out of the mighty gates of the Vilkan capital and towards the mighty Dukar Field.
Once greeted to the Regiment escorting the Matriarch and her delegates, the Envoy dismounted, pulling out a scroll and began reading from it, the archbishop coming into view with a golden cane. The Zhaneshnik heading the regiment moved out of the way to reveal the Matriarch and her dignitaries upon the Dukar Field, at the forefront of the mighty gates of Vilkyigrod. The mighty domed spires and colourful spires standing out amidst the pale white snow.
"Upon de grace of his highest honour, de Grand Prince of Commonweald, and his reverence Grand Chancellor Dushko Yakovets Novadugrevich of Clan Dukar, ve velcome you Starash Udavauld! Upon Vilkan snow ve hope our hospitality is to your liking and dat your stay is prosperous! Upon Vilik's vord ve hope you can respect our traditions as ve shall respect yours!" His Common was broken, that was for sure.
The archbishop nodded and lifted his golden cane. He chanted a seemingly peaceful blessing to the Matriarch in Ecclesiastical Vilkof, the written and sacred tongue of Vilkan culture. After he was done, he lowered his cane and bowed alongside the heralds. "Vilik and his children bless you, Starash Udavauld."
The presence of the Skáldri was understandably alarming. While they rarely traveled so far inland, stories of their ferocious raids were commonplace in this part of the world. As they were escorted along the Vladimiyi, the Skáldri war-hands laughed and chatted amongst themselves in Skáltænge. Many seemed disappointed that the Boyars and spearmen had encircled them, not because they were worried about being betrayed, but simply because they wanted to see--and to be seen. The væmmiski were larger than horses, but the war-hands couldn't see much beyond the forest of spears.
During one of the times their progress was slowed by a snooping Peshnik, one of the war-hands stood up in the saddle to watch the proceedings, though they spoke too quickly for her to understand. "The people are fat geese," she said in Skáltænge to her companion, the man mounted on the same væmmisk. "We could be no-armed and blind and still pluck them with ease."
"Do not talk in such a way, Vædu," replied her companion. "The matriarch forbids talk of conquest while we are in the Vilkaland." Vædu looked put out, but she respected Uthavauld enough to not press that line of conversation.
The rest of the journey to Vilkyagrod was otherwise largely uneventful, and for the majority of it, the matriarch was silent, not speaking to even her daughter Hennevé, who sat just behind the mammoth's ears to drive it. For all their joking, the war-hands did seem to be impressed by the Vilkan architecture, especially in the larger towns. When they reached the Dukar Field, they fell into awestruck silence at the sight of those colossal gates.
Uthavauld rose from her pillow and climbed right down the side of the mammoth, knowing exactly which plaits were looped for grasping, thereby eliminating the need for a ladder. Once she jumped to the ground, she stroked the animal's side, then pushed her way through her small horde to reach the Archbishop who came to greet them. She wore a pure white væmmisk hide over her shoulders and many layers of leather and wool skirts. Multitudes of necklaces adorned her throat and collarbone, some drooping low over her chest, which was otherwise bare. Thankfully, the ornamentation and the pelt kept her quite modest. White clay markings rose up from her eyes, over thick brows, and into her coarse mane of black hair which was left loose and wild. White feathers and beads were tied into the locks.
She listened patiently as she was greeted. Most of the names went one ear and out the other, and she couldn't tell if she was supposed to understand the Archbishop's brief interlude, which had the chanted intonation of a spell. When the Envoy was done speaking, she stepped up to him and planted both of her hands upon his shoulders. She was a very tall woman. "Ve see you, Vilkans," she said. After a hesitation, she whacked her forehead into his. Normally this was reserved for greetings between elders and chiefs, but Vilkans had a much more complex hierarchy, and Uthavauld wasn't sure if it applied here. Better to be safe than sorry. "Spirit bless you also, and d'Vilkaland and his childs. Children." After another hesitation, she walked over to the Archbishop to repeat the forehead-bonk-greeting, since he looked important.
During one of the times their progress was slowed by a snooping Peshnik, one of the war-hands stood up in the saddle to watch the proceedings, though they spoke too quickly for her to understand. "The people are fat geese," she said in Skáltænge to her companion, the man mounted on the same væmmisk. "We could be no-armed and blind and still pluck them with ease."
"Do not talk in such a way, Vædu," replied her companion. "The matriarch forbids talk of conquest while we are in the Vilkaland." Vædu looked put out, but she respected Uthavauld enough to not press that line of conversation.
The rest of the journey to Vilkyagrod was otherwise largely uneventful, and for the majority of it, the matriarch was silent, not speaking to even her daughter Hennevé, who sat just behind the mammoth's ears to drive it. For all their joking, the war-hands did seem to be impressed by the Vilkan architecture, especially in the larger towns. When they reached the Dukar Field, they fell into awestruck silence at the sight of those colossal gates.
Uthavauld rose from her pillow and climbed right down the side of the mammoth, knowing exactly which plaits were looped for grasping, thereby eliminating the need for a ladder. Once she jumped to the ground, she stroked the animal's side, then pushed her way through her small horde to reach the Archbishop who came to greet them. She wore a pure white væmmisk hide over her shoulders and many layers of leather and wool skirts. Multitudes of necklaces adorned her throat and collarbone, some drooping low over her chest, which was otherwise bare. Thankfully, the ornamentation and the pelt kept her quite modest. White clay markings rose up from her eyes, over thick brows, and into her coarse mane of black hair which was left loose and wild. White feathers and beads were tied into the locks.
She listened patiently as she was greeted. Most of the names went one ear and out the other, and she couldn't tell if she was supposed to understand the Archbishop's brief interlude, which had the chanted intonation of a spell. When the Envoy was done speaking, she stepped up to him and planted both of her hands upon his shoulders. She was a very tall woman. "Ve see you, Vilkans," she said. After a hesitation, she whacked her forehead into his. Normally this was reserved for greetings between elders and chiefs, but Vilkans had a much more complex hierarchy, and Uthavauld wasn't sure if it applied here. Better to be safe than sorry. "Spirit bless you also, and d'Vilkaland and his childs. Children." After another hesitation, she walked over to the Archbishop to repeat the forehead-bonk-greeting, since he looked important.
That Peshnik was tempted to scold the delegates under suspicion of their tongue bearing poison, but the antagonizing stare of the seasoned Zhaneshnik had told him to hold his speech. Hesitantly, the Peshnik allowed passage through his quaint hamlet, passing the bronze Vyets Bell, a characteristic symbol of Vilkan democracy. Each village and town had exactly that, although with some forged of bronze all the way up to gold. Those that retained the gold surface typically were larger towns, often subject to a Peshnik subordinate to a Gospodar. Regardless, the bells they passed were of around the height of the Peshniks that rung them, attached to an oaken frame with a burly rope in a large court.
Even after the Zhaneshnik permitted passage to the Matriarch, his men still retained the circular formation surrounding her delegates. The Boyars beneath their plate and lamellar sat still upon their destriers, quietly observing the Matriarch make her approach to the Envoy. The spearmen quaked subtly beneath their gambesons and hauberks; if that wasn't enough to suggest their apprehension, a minority were sweating. Clearly these were no true warriors as compared to the harden Steppe Folk, though the Boyars might be seen with higher esteem, if not for their full panoplies.
The Envoy looked up at the towering Matriarch, smiling nervously and quaking. What happened next the majority of them wouldn't have anticipated, no siree. The Envoy collapsed into the snow, almost going limp as he was nearly knocked unconscious. They responded the only way they thought was appropriate: with arms. Just then, the spearmen turned on the delegates, surrounding them in circle of pointed blades. The Constable exclaimed "Rano!" trilling the 'r'. The men tried their best in holding their aggressive response, reverting their points and separating themselves a good distance away from the delegates in an attempt to find repentance for their actions. As the Matriarch approached the archbishop, he whimpered and shied away like a small child.
The Zhaneshnik removed his helmet, a rueful look in his eyes. "Our apologies, Starash. I've dealt with yer people in de past. It's customary for vhat you did, no?" The Envoy got up, rubbing his head and laughing bashfully. The other heralds rushing to his aid as he got back on his feet.
"No harm!" The Envoy exclaimed. "Ve deeply apologize for dat! Dees men are mostly illiterate vhen it comes to your culture. Ve humbly beg for your forgiveness." The rest of the Regiment muttered 'tsa' as they made even more room for the delegates.
Even after the Zhaneshnik permitted passage to the Matriarch, his men still retained the circular formation surrounding her delegates. The Boyars beneath their plate and lamellar sat still upon their destriers, quietly observing the Matriarch make her approach to the Envoy. The spearmen quaked subtly beneath their gambesons and hauberks; if that wasn't enough to suggest their apprehension, a minority were sweating. Clearly these were no true warriors as compared to the harden Steppe Folk, though the Boyars might be seen with higher esteem, if not for their full panoplies.
The Envoy looked up at the towering Matriarch, smiling nervously and quaking. What happened next the majority of them wouldn't have anticipated, no siree. The Envoy collapsed into the snow, almost going limp as he was nearly knocked unconscious. They responded the only way they thought was appropriate: with arms. Just then, the spearmen turned on the delegates, surrounding them in circle of pointed blades. The Constable exclaimed "Rano!" trilling the 'r'. The men tried their best in holding their aggressive response, reverting their points and separating themselves a good distance away from the delegates in an attempt to find repentance for their actions. As the Matriarch approached the archbishop, he whimpered and shied away like a small child.
The Zhaneshnik removed his helmet, a rueful look in his eyes. "Our apologies, Starash. I've dealt with yer people in de past. It's customary for vhat you did, no?" The Envoy got up, rubbing his head and laughing bashfully. The other heralds rushing to his aid as he got back on his feet.
"No harm!" The Envoy exclaimed. "Ve deeply apologize for dat! Dees men are mostly illiterate vhen it comes to your culture. Ve humbly beg for your forgiveness." The rest of the Regiment muttered 'tsa' as they made even more room for the delegates.
From down the Shtamo Milutin came the first of the dignitary groups traveling the northern route through the Lyelant Pass. Clad in the heavy fur garments and hooded cloaks that the Fel'ce always seemed to wear when in the colder Vilkan lands, a small group of eight traveled down the path in a formation of ,surprisingly, similar style to Vilkan banners formations. Those who regularly dealt with the Fel'ce knew the species adapted and adopted Vilkan ideas in the same way the Vilkan's had picked up many Fel'ce teachings, the prime example being the knowledge of alchemy.
As they grew close to the regiment the lead member of the group removed her hood, revealing bright crimson hair and facial scales. Even at a distance there was no mistaking the unique coloration of Ilis Chalshi, the Fel'ce Mother herself. Once the group drew to within acceptable speaking distance a second woman removed her hood, the pitch black of her hair and scales a stark contrast to her leader's. Speaking in her natural tongue to the black scaled Fel'ce, Ilis looks directly at Petro. Once finished speaking, the black scaled fel'ce says in common, and poor, vilkof "I am T'lith Shalyss. Mother Ilis's speaker for the assembly. Zhaneshnik Petro, She wishes you to know that she is extremely pleased to see that it is you that will be our escort to the assembly. More importantly the other delegations shall arrive shortly with two of our own guiding them. They shall return to our lands once the others have arrived." During the entire time T'lith speaks, Ilis gives a broad smile to the man that so often helped keep her people safe on their travels through the Vilkan lands.
As they grew close to the regiment the lead member of the group removed her hood, revealing bright crimson hair and facial scales. Even at a distance there was no mistaking the unique coloration of Ilis Chalshi, the Fel'ce Mother herself. Once the group drew to within acceptable speaking distance a second woman removed her hood, the pitch black of her hair and scales a stark contrast to her leader's. Speaking in her natural tongue to the black scaled Fel'ce, Ilis looks directly at Petro. Once finished speaking, the black scaled fel'ce says in common, and poor, vilkof "I am T'lith Shalyss. Mother Ilis's speaker for the assembly. Zhaneshnik Petro, She wishes you to know that she is extremely pleased to see that it is you that will be our escort to the assembly. More importantly the other delegations shall arrive shortly with two of our own guiding them. They shall return to our lands once the others have arrived." During the entire time T'lith speaks, Ilis gives a broad smile to the man that so often helped keep her people safe on their travels through the Vilkan lands.
The Fel'ce delegates were treated to the megalithic mountains of the Lyelant, with two covering each flank as they entered, cradling them like the soft hands over an injured bird. As they entered, the winds picked up as they whistled through the archways of the mountains' structure. The further they made their way through the Pass, focusing on the vague outline of the Shtamo Milutin, they could've caught sight of weapons jutting from the snow like pin cushions; polehammers, sabres, the lot. Just adjacent to a lone poleaxe was a large memorial stone, no older than a decade and nearly 10 feet high; it bore the multilingual writings of the standard Vilkof script in both the High and Low tongues. Funnily enough, there was also a transliteration of the same text in the Common script just under the two writings:
"Upon the footholds of Vilkan snow, we honour those that have given their blood, their souls, and their lives for us in the face of greater adversity. Honour resided in their lives until their very end. Regardless, their legend lives on in our hearts and their souls past the River. Vilik bless you, our dear brothers."
Under the tributary writing was a large list of names, unfortunately, largely forgettable names such as 'Vadim Vadimivich' or 'Ivan Brankovich'. Amongst this sea of forgettables, there was 'Marik Dugrevich' in bold letters. The Fel'ce might've picked up on that.
Rudomir's eyes shot up upon hearing the faint crunch of snow. Finally, the Fel'ce delegates have arrived. Petro caught sight as well, with Rudomir almost telling him the obvious as they approached. Rudomir nearly rode out to proceed with heraldic protocols, but was stopped as the Constable placed an armoured hand on his chest. Naturally, Petro rode out to greet them.
Removing his helmet revealed a surprisingly young and charming face, not the type you'd see leading an entire regiment in war. Smiling, he approached the delegates. "Zdarvo!" He called out, raising his hand. Once the Mother's deputy spoke, he was quite surprised upon hearing his native language. He giggled somewhat at her slightly broken accent, mostly stressing on the wrong syllables and even mixing up some of the case declensions. He didn't blame her, both the standard written language and the regional dialects were a bitch to get used to. He raised his hand, smiling. "Please! I can speak Common just fine! No need to make me feel comfortable, Starash!" He spoke in Common. "'Tis honour to make your acquaintance, Starash T'lid." He listened upon hearing the Fel'ce saying they'd guide the other delegates from up north. He thought for a moment, then turned to Rudomir. "Gyubo! Ve shall split for now. You're coming wid me to Nova Dukari. I vant 3 Banners. I'll let de remaining Kapitans to guide de rest on way. Understood?"
"Tsa!" Rudomir called out, before the Constable turned back to T'lith. "Is der anyding else you wish to discuss before ve head off? I can assure you dat we've prepared a grand feast for you and de rest!" Well, that was what he assumed at least.
"Upon the footholds of Vilkan snow, we honour those that have given their blood, their souls, and their lives for us in the face of greater adversity. Honour resided in their lives until their very end. Regardless, their legend lives on in our hearts and their souls past the River. Vilik bless you, our dear brothers."
Under the tributary writing was a large list of names, unfortunately, largely forgettable names such as 'Vadim Vadimivich' or 'Ivan Brankovich'. Amongst this sea of forgettables, there was 'Marik Dugrevich' in bold letters. The Fel'ce might've picked up on that.
Rudomir's eyes shot up upon hearing the faint crunch of snow. Finally, the Fel'ce delegates have arrived. Petro caught sight as well, with Rudomir almost telling him the obvious as they approached. Rudomir nearly rode out to proceed with heraldic protocols, but was stopped as the Constable placed an armoured hand on his chest. Naturally, Petro rode out to greet them.
Removing his helmet revealed a surprisingly young and charming face, not the type you'd see leading an entire regiment in war. Smiling, he approached the delegates. "Zdarvo!" He called out, raising his hand. Once the Mother's deputy spoke, he was quite surprised upon hearing his native language. He giggled somewhat at her slightly broken accent, mostly stressing on the wrong syllables and even mixing up some of the case declensions. He didn't blame her, both the standard written language and the regional dialects were a bitch to get used to. He raised his hand, smiling. "Please! I can speak Common just fine! No need to make me feel comfortable, Starash!" He spoke in Common. "'Tis honour to make your acquaintance, Starash T'lid." He listened upon hearing the Fel'ce saying they'd guide the other delegates from up north. He thought for a moment, then turned to Rudomir. "Gyubo! Ve shall split for now. You're coming wid me to Nova Dukari. I vant 3 Banners. I'll let de remaining Kapitans to guide de rest on way. Understood?"
"Tsa!" Rudomir called out, before the Constable turned back to T'lith. "Is der anyding else you wish to discuss before ve head off? I can assure you dat we've prepared a grand feast for you and de rest!" Well, that was what he assumed at least.
Kazagrod glistened under the noonday sun when the Caelnyan sails appeared on the horizon. three small, quick vessels cut through the brine, their decks manned by seasoned sailors and soldiers. The warriors moved and acted confidently; they had been loyal through Kel's overthrow of Gahlerek, and had become hardened fighters since then. They wore shades of green and silver, in Caelnya's colors, and their breasts bore a single rune that symbolized Zhoae, the god of the islands. At the head of the leading vessel was Vashta Caelnya himself.
When the first ship was close enough, a rowboat was lowered and a small party departed for the dock. Kel and three soldiers rowed their way to the docks. When he was close enough, Kel called out.
"An emissary of the Caelnya is arrived at the behest of the Grand Chancellor. We bring professional soldiers to furnish an escort, a score in count, along with our sailors. We're going to pass through to... Starmovan (he said, likely butchering the pronunciation), as the request instructed us. Has word reached before us?"
When the first ship was close enough, a rowboat was lowered and a small party departed for the dock. Kel and three soldiers rowed their way to the docks. When he was close enough, Kel called out.
"An emissary of the Caelnya is arrived at the behest of the Grand Chancellor. We bring professional soldiers to furnish an escort, a score in count, along with our sailors. We're going to pass through to... Starmovan (he said, likely butchering the pronunciation), as the request instructed us. Has word reached before us?"
Kel's fleet was spotted by a lone cog adjacent to the Daymer Coast. Before long, that cog escorted the fleet to the Grand Port where it was met with a glorious fleet of galleys and other naval weapons, overlooking the equally impressive docks and piers. The Peshnik of Kazagrod welcomed the Caelnyan delegates with open arms, before guiding them to the provincial court of the Prince Voyvoda. They were treated to a small buffet (especially in regards to the one ahead of them, Vilik bless) of highly salty meat products, commonly referred to as 'Shulozh', a Kazimirian culinary tradition the rest of the the Commonwealth adopted. There was also a fine selection of wine, such as Bladanyed, along with non-alcoholic Ruden juice.
The Voyvoda nodded taking note of the Grand Chancellor's belated message. He advised him to stay on the road as best they could. In fact, their stay would be short as the Voyvoda assigned a vassal Kapitan to command a Company of Daymer Clan mounted Boyars to escort the delegates along the Shtamo Vineshi. The Company wasn't as big as a Regiment would be, and rightly so, due to the relatively peaceful route along the Vineshi to the intersection splitting it to the Milutin. Before long, the Company along with a contingent of Kel's professional soldiers prodded along the Vineshi.
The trek along the Vineshi was largely uneventful, passing the Kaminyiks of Gedashan, Kulov, before the intersection. Hilar travelers gave passing glances to the Caelnyan delegates, before being dismissed verbally by the Kapitan leading the company. The Peshniks didn't quite give them as much attention as the Skauldri, yet the more stricter ones did so. They too passed the characteristic Vyets Bell in the centre of the cities and towns.
As they arrived at the inter-section, a familiar face appeared along the hastily paved road; middle-aged, pale skinned and with a tonsure hair-style fitting a monk... It was Zhupan Milosh! He rode upon a gelding with an escort of masked Druzhina, he wore heavy winter clothing made of dark brown fur and leather boots with spurs. He dismounted, staring at his former brother in arms. "Sahr Kel?!" His face immediately lit up. "Vilik bless! Der you are!" He shouted jovially, approaching him.
The Voyvoda nodded taking note of the Grand Chancellor's belated message. He advised him to stay on the road as best they could. In fact, their stay would be short as the Voyvoda assigned a vassal Kapitan to command a Company of Daymer Clan mounted Boyars to escort the delegates along the Shtamo Vineshi. The Company wasn't as big as a Regiment would be, and rightly so, due to the relatively peaceful route along the Vineshi to the intersection splitting it to the Milutin. Before long, the Company along with a contingent of Kel's professional soldiers prodded along the Vineshi.
The trek along the Vineshi was largely uneventful, passing the Kaminyiks of Gedashan, Kulov, before the intersection. Hilar travelers gave passing glances to the Caelnyan delegates, before being dismissed verbally by the Kapitan leading the company. The Peshniks didn't quite give them as much attention as the Skauldri, yet the more stricter ones did so. They too passed the characteristic Vyets Bell in the centre of the cities and towns.
As they arrived at the inter-section, a familiar face appeared along the hastily paved road; middle-aged, pale skinned and with a tonsure hair-style fitting a monk... It was Zhupan Milosh! He rode upon a gelding with an escort of masked Druzhina, he wore heavy winter clothing made of dark brown fur and leather boots with spurs. He dismounted, staring at his former brother in arms. "Sahr Kel?!" His face immediately lit up. "Vilik bless! Der you are!" He shouted jovially, approaching him.
((Oh right. This is a thing I was planning on participating in.))
It could have appeared, at first, that Tamren approached alone when he appeared within the sight of the Lyelant Pass. Closer inspection, however, would reveal that his party included ten warriors in a staggered, irregular formation moving almost unseen through the terrain on surefooted horses, as well as three comparatively towering figures clad in heavy armor. These creatures, eight feet tall with exceptionally long arms and, apparently, four eyes, moved lithely and deliberately. The Ruuk with the party had only recently been recruited by Tamren, so they were still slightly uncertain with their old blades, but they were potent fighters nonetheless. The other ten warriors were well-trusted Artafaens who were loyal to Tamren without question. The emperor-errant approached the watchmen at the pass, flying a sky-blue flag that, to Ruukish and Artafaen eyes (and those familiar with their customs), denoted a desire for conversation between two armed parties. Tamren also called out in a number of languages, many of which he had learned with the Ruuk, calling for peaceful conference.
"I am Tamren Artafae'Nadirel'Firnastirgallen Artaramdreka'uusfalle, the Astirok and Emperor of the Ruuk Astir. I'm sorry we were delayed, but I was recently able to expand my forces by enticing these Ruuk to join our cause. They are well armed and fierce fighters, as are the rest of my party. Where can I find the Chancellor?" Tamren said, a curiously silvery accent slipping slightly into his speech. He wore simple traveling clothes, but the Ruuk saber at his side would confirm to any observers aware of the Astir's history that the man with vibrantly green eyes was not a simple adventurer.
It could have appeared, at first, that Tamren approached alone when he appeared within the sight of the Lyelant Pass. Closer inspection, however, would reveal that his party included ten warriors in a staggered, irregular formation moving almost unseen through the terrain on surefooted horses, as well as three comparatively towering figures clad in heavy armor. These creatures, eight feet tall with exceptionally long arms and, apparently, four eyes, moved lithely and deliberately. The Ruuk with the party had only recently been recruited by Tamren, so they were still slightly uncertain with their old blades, but they were potent fighters nonetheless. The other ten warriors were well-trusted Artafaens who were loyal to Tamren without question. The emperor-errant approached the watchmen at the pass, flying a sky-blue flag that, to Ruukish and Artafaen eyes (and those familiar with their customs), denoted a desire for conversation between two armed parties. Tamren also called out in a number of languages, many of which he had learned with the Ruuk, calling for peaceful conference.
"I am Tamren Artafae'Nadirel'Firnastirgallen Artaramdreka'uusfalle, the Astirok and Emperor of the Ruuk Astir. I'm sorry we were delayed, but I was recently able to expand my forces by enticing these Ruuk to join our cause. They are well armed and fierce fighters, as are the rest of my party. Where can I find the Chancellor?" Tamren said, a curiously silvery accent slipping slightly into his speech. He wore simple traveling clothes, but the Ruuk saber at his side would confirm to any observers aware of the Astir's history that the man with vibrantly green eyes was not a simple adventurer.
Just as the Constable was conversing with the Mother's deputy, his attention diverted to the incoming delegates, seeing that blue flag amidst the growing snowstorm. It was like they appeared out of thin air. Phew, no Separatists yet. He gasped at the sight of the 8 feet tall figures, believing them for a second to be angels of some kind. He dismissed that ridiculous thought. Looking back to the Mother's deputy, he motioned his head at the Ruuk as if saying 'they look familiar'?
The Constable motioned his deputy, Radomir to converse with the dignitaries. The lone bannerman rode up to the emperor-errant, dismounting and bowing deeply. He disregarded the routine heraldic protocols as Petro was never really fond of such menial chatter.
The emperor's name entered one ear and out the other, unable to keep up with the ridiculously long name. Regardless, he smiled. "An honour, Starazh Tamren! I can..." He paused looking at the intimidating stature of the Ruuk. "see dat..." He gulped nervously, obviously intimidated by their insane height. He cleared his throat, correcting his posture. "Tsa! For future reference, please refer to him as 'Grand Chancellor', he might'nt mind, but just heads up, in case it vasn't him." He laughed nervously. "I'm sure you are familiar with our Fel'ce allies?" he turned back to the draconic dignitaries. "I do hope your trip down vas calm, yes? Anyway! ve shall show you once our dear Fel'ce have finished conversing." His eyes turned to his sabre. Curious, it was most likely of Fel'cen make to him.
The Constable motioned his deputy, Radomir to converse with the dignitaries. The lone bannerman rode up to the emperor-errant, dismounting and bowing deeply. He disregarded the routine heraldic protocols as Petro was never really fond of such menial chatter.
The emperor's name entered one ear and out the other, unable to keep up with the ridiculously long name. Regardless, he smiled. "An honour, Starazh Tamren! I can..." He paused looking at the intimidating stature of the Ruuk. "see dat..." He gulped nervously, obviously intimidated by their insane height. He cleared his throat, correcting his posture. "Tsa! For future reference, please refer to him as 'Grand Chancellor', he might'nt mind, but just heads up, in case it vasn't him." He laughed nervously. "I'm sure you are familiar with our Fel'ce allies?" he turned back to the draconic dignitaries. "I do hope your trip down vas calm, yes? Anyway! ve shall show you once our dear Fel'ce have finished conversing." His eyes turned to his sabre. Curious, it was most likely of Fel'cen make to him.
Uthavauld watched bemusedly as their envoy crumpled to the ground like an empty sack, then back over her shoulder to her war-hands. Vædu shrugged to show she had no idea what had gone wrong, and the Matriarch shrugged as well, looking back down to the man in the snow. The bristling spears all around them seemed to worry the Skáldri very little, seeming more amused than anything, though the væmmiski-ur did begin to paw the ground and let out low grunting bleats.
"Vot happen," asked Uthavauld, scratching her head. "I do ingøngorg ... you do not have it?" She sniffed and regarded the man in the snow again, who was now being assisted to his feet by heralds. Some of the war-hands were clearly fighting the desire to laugh and hoot--if the Matriarch felt and such desire, she hid it exceptionally well. "Is greeting of draldénni--chiefs, leaders. Looks like draldénn ... dis von also."
Unfortunately for the Archbishop, she still approached him. At least she gave a warning this time. "Doing ingøngorg," she explained, then proceeded to bonk heads with him much as she had done to the envoy, albeit much gentler. Stidja were very often more fragile than Skáldri, she had to remind herself. Once this greeting was done, she took a step back to regard both men as well as the Zhaneshnik. "Vot now happens?" It was clear that the Skáldri weren't used to peace talks such as these, as evident by the Matriarch's blank stares.
"Vot happen," asked Uthavauld, scratching her head. "I do ingøngorg ... you do not have it?" She sniffed and regarded the man in the snow again, who was now being assisted to his feet by heralds. Some of the war-hands were clearly fighting the desire to laugh and hoot--if the Matriarch felt and such desire, she hid it exceptionally well. "Is greeting of draldénni--chiefs, leaders. Looks like draldénn ... dis von also."
Unfortunately for the Archbishop, she still approached him. At least she gave a warning this time. "Doing ingøngorg," she explained, then proceeded to bonk heads with him much as she had done to the envoy, albeit much gentler. Stidja were very often more fragile than Skáldri, she had to remind herself. Once this greeting was done, she took a step back to regard both men as well as the Zhaneshnik. "Vot now happens?" It was clear that the Skáldri weren't used to peace talks such as these, as evident by the Matriarch's blank stares.
There was a nasty mark on the envoy's head, although he seemed to mask his pain by grinning like a child in the mud. "I'm afraid ve don't have such customs, Starash." The envoy spoke. "Ve understand you meant no harm, but for future reference, please don't do that again, tsa?" The Zhaneshnik nodded. "Again, ve apologise for dat. Please be-" He sighed and rolled his eyes as she approached the Archbishop. "Your holiness, just relax."
Relax he did not, shuffling away from her cowardly, whimpering like a scared little puppy. Gulping, the church official stood straight once again as he removed his mitre, shutting his eyes tightly. He felt greatly relieved as the Matriarch did ingøngorg as they called it in a much lighter manner. He sighed, looking up at the towering Matriarch. "V-V-Vilik bless you." He stuttered, before trudging through the snow and hiding behind the heralds. The envoy suspected they saw him and his people as a joke, and rightly so; few of his kin had experienced the harsh wildlands of the Veliki Steppes, and to see these battle-hardened dignitaries amidst the much more 'civilised' culture of the Commonwealth... there was little comparison.
Once the Archbishop was 'introduced' the Envoy spoke again. "Dis way, Starash!" He ran up to the Matriarch and offered her passage with his hands. Then the Constable's deputy rode out to the colossal gates of Vilkyigrod, bearing the horse-emblazoned flag of Clan Ruden and spoke out to them in Vilkof. Before long, the gates finally parted, to reveal the wide streets of the city, an influx of Hilar and Sebri rushing over the street to allow passage.
Relax he did not, shuffling away from her cowardly, whimpering like a scared little puppy. Gulping, the church official stood straight once again as he removed his mitre, shutting his eyes tightly. He felt greatly relieved as the Matriarch did ingøngorg as they called it in a much lighter manner. He sighed, looking up at the towering Matriarch. "V-V-Vilik bless you." He stuttered, before trudging through the snow and hiding behind the heralds. The envoy suspected they saw him and his people as a joke, and rightly so; few of his kin had experienced the harsh wildlands of the Veliki Steppes, and to see these battle-hardened dignitaries amidst the much more 'civilised' culture of the Commonwealth... there was little comparison.
Once the Archbishop was 'introduced' the Envoy spoke again. "Dis way, Starash!" He ran up to the Matriarch and offered her passage with his hands. Then the Constable's deputy rode out to the colossal gates of Vilkyigrod, bearing the horse-emblazoned flag of Clan Ruden and spoke out to them in Vilkof. Before long, the gates finally parted, to reveal the wide streets of the city, an influx of Hilar and Sebri rushing over the street to allow passage.
Kel and his party were overjoyed to be presented with a small feast at their arrival. They had had plenty of food, but most of it was the less-than-delicious result of compacting the common Caelnyan traveling dish of Dalcyr (much like mashed potatoes, but made with Da, a native tuber to the Islands) and baking it into crunchy disks. Filling, but a little bland. The food was well-received by the soldiers, and Kel was glad for the rest after a hard journey sailing.
When Milosh appeared, Kel's face lit up, a to see his old comrade.
"Sahr Milosh! The pleasure is mine!" he said, greeting his friend warmly. "I had hoped I might see you. Are you traveling with us? Or does your duty command you stay?"
When Milosh appeared, Kel's face lit up, a to see his old comrade.
"Sahr Milosh! The pleasure is mine!" he said, greeting his friend warmly. "I had hoped I might see you. Are you traveling with us? Or does your duty command you stay?"
The Druzhina wore blank-faced steel masks each of them identical to each other. The retinue riding with Milosh almost reached out to the Kazaar, but halted as he ran up to his dear friend. He ran clumsily, trudging through the snow with his spurred boots, before offering a strong hand in greeting to Kel. His face was as lit as a candle in a dark brothel. Once Kel seized his hand in greeting, he shook it like wild fire. "Is so good to see you, gyubo! De Grand Chancellor would be honoured to have you in his presence!"
"Unfortunately, my dear gyubo, affairs of state are needed back home in Buletan." He scrapped the snowy paved road with his spurred boot, Kel would notice its aging appearance by its cracks. "As you can see, infrastructural reforms are needed." He laughed. "Shame I cannot join you in Kymir Dragomir's court," he put his hand on Kel's shoulder. "I hope council goes well! Grand Chancellor Dushko es fairly easy going, from vhat I hear." He grinned.
"Unfortunately, my dear gyubo, affairs of state are needed back home in Buletan." He scrapped the snowy paved road with his spurred boot, Kel would notice its aging appearance by its cracks. "As you can see, infrastructural reforms are needed." He laughed. "Shame I cannot join you in Kymir Dragomir's court," he put his hand on Kel's shoulder. "I hope council goes well! Grand Chancellor Dushko es fairly easy going, from vhat I hear." He grinned.
Kel smiled. "It sounds like you're very busy. I'm sorry we can't share the road once again. Take care, brother, and may our paths cross soon once more! My hall is always open to you, if you ever find occasion to venture across the Channel one day," he said before bidding the man farewell and rejoining the Company that was escorting him. He looked to the Kapitan.
"Onward to the Milutin?" Kel said cheerily.
"Onward to the Milutin?" Kel said cheerily.
"Oy..." And just then, he hugged the young warrior, patting his back rather heavily, squeezing him tight. He'd pay little attention to how Kel was feeling upon his sudden burst of affection. He chuckled, parting away from him, smiling jovially. "It'd be my highest honour to be present in your court, Novazh. Perhaps after some papervork, I'd find some time to sail. Anyvay, good luck wid de council!" With one final gesture of departure, he shook his hand one last time, before mounting his horse, and galloping away from the Company with his retinue following suit. The retinue of Druzhina presented a large sea of lamellar and plate as they thundered south along the southern Shtamo Vaymiki, leaving the mixed Company of Clan armorial bearings awestruck.
The Kapitan rolled his eyes and shook his head, upon seeing his Boyars and spearmen stared with mouths agape and eyes widened (at least, the spearmen could communicate such a notion). "Come on. Sun isn't going to wait forever." He looked to Kel and nodded his head. "Tsa. Let's not waste anymore time..." And with that, the Company plodded towards the Milutin, with the bilingual sign displaying both the Nikolan Script and the Common Script pointing east, directing them to the Zhupa of Mlatova, all the way to the Crown Lands of Nova Dukari. And with that, they traveled.
They stopped by the city of Mayoko, where they were promptly treated to an audience within the Gospodar's court, passing by the Vyets Bell and its golden structure. As their stay was prompt, they were just as much forced out as they were greeted, with the Kapitan insisting that they'd waste little time in 'trivial customs'. Just as the Skauldri war-hands had made their way to the gates of Vilkyigrod, Kel's arrival was just as punctual. The Envoy with the nasty indention on his forehead rushed alongside his Banner to the Cael'nyan delegates and the Company escorting them. The Kapitan ordered the Company to spread out in view of Kel and his companions.
The Envoy stood straight pulling out the scroll. Only thing he realised though, was that it was the same scroll from earlier he used to address the war-hands... same writing and all. He groaned, rolling up the scroll and blushing. "Um... velcome to de Commonweald! On, b-behalf of Grand Chancellor Dushko Yakovets Novadugrevich, ve hope your..." He paused awkwardly. He looked to his companions, shrugging. One of them, a boyish-faced browned haired fellow rolled his eyes flippantly and pushed the Envoy aside. "Must I do everyding myself, Goran?" He cleared his throat, stepping in view of the dignitaries.
The boyish fellow spoke with fluency and articulation, standing straight, a hand behind his back and the other situated around his chest, gesturing in sync with his words. "Upon de grace of his highest honour, Kymir Dragomir of de Commonweald, ve velcome you, Novazh Vashta! Ve hope our fine courts and hospitality is of your liking and that ve can accommodate you all to best of our abilities!" He bowed deeply. The Archbishop cowered behind the Banner before being urged to stand in front of them, where he too bestowed some holy blessing on them in the sacred tongue.
Once the Archbishop finished his sermon, cane raised and all, he bowed as well, quaking in fear as he did so. He stood straight up again, smiling nervously. "V-V-Vilik and his children bless you, Novazh Vashta!"
The Kapitan rolled his eyes and shook his head, upon seeing his Boyars and spearmen stared with mouths agape and eyes widened (at least, the spearmen could communicate such a notion). "Come on. Sun isn't going to wait forever." He looked to Kel and nodded his head. "Tsa. Let's not waste anymore time..." And with that, the Company plodded towards the Milutin, with the bilingual sign displaying both the Nikolan Script and the Common Script pointing east, directing them to the Zhupa of Mlatova, all the way to the Crown Lands of Nova Dukari. And with that, they traveled.
They stopped by the city of Mayoko, where they were promptly treated to an audience within the Gospodar's court, passing by the Vyets Bell and its golden structure. As their stay was prompt, they were just as much forced out as they were greeted, with the Kapitan insisting that they'd waste little time in 'trivial customs'. Just as the Skauldri war-hands had made their way to the gates of Vilkyigrod, Kel's arrival was just as punctual. The Envoy with the nasty indention on his forehead rushed alongside his Banner to the Cael'nyan delegates and the Company escorting them. The Kapitan ordered the Company to spread out in view of Kel and his companions.
The Envoy stood straight pulling out the scroll. Only thing he realised though, was that it was the same scroll from earlier he used to address the war-hands... same writing and all. He groaned, rolling up the scroll and blushing. "Um... velcome to de Commonweald! On, b-behalf of Grand Chancellor Dushko Yakovets Novadugrevich, ve hope your..." He paused awkwardly. He looked to his companions, shrugging. One of them, a boyish-faced browned haired fellow rolled his eyes flippantly and pushed the Envoy aside. "Must I do everyding myself, Goran?" He cleared his throat, stepping in view of the dignitaries.
The boyish fellow spoke with fluency and articulation, standing straight, a hand behind his back and the other situated around his chest, gesturing in sync with his words. "Upon de grace of his highest honour, Kymir Dragomir of de Commonweald, ve velcome you, Novazh Vashta! Ve hope our fine courts and hospitality is of your liking and that ve can accommodate you all to best of our abilities!" He bowed deeply. The Archbishop cowered behind the Banner before being urged to stand in front of them, where he too bestowed some holy blessing on them in the sacred tongue.
Once the Archbishop finished his sermon, cane raised and all, he bowed as well, quaking in fear as he did so. He stood straight up again, smiling nervously. "V-V-Vilik and his children bless you, Novazh Vashta!"
Petro Tsokumodrunov wrote:
Just as the Constable was conversing with the Mother's deputy, his attention diverted to the incoming delegates, seeing that blue flag amidst the growing snowstorm. It was like they appeared out of thin air. Phew, no Separatists yet. He gasped at the sight of the 8 feet tall figures, believing them for a second to be angels of some kind. He dismissed that ridiculous thought. Looking back to the Mother's deputy, he motioned his head at the Ruuk as if saying 'they look familiar'?
The Constable motioned his deputy, Radomir to converse with the dignitaries. The lone bannerman rode up to the emperor-errant, dismounting and bowing deeply. He disregarded the routine heraldic protocols as Petro was never really fond of such menial chatter.
The emperor's name entered one ear and out the other, unable to keep up with the ridiculously long name. Regardless, he smiled. "An honour, Starazh Tamren! I can..." He paused looking at the intimidating stature of the Ruuk. "see dat..." He gulped nervously, obviously intimidated by their insane height. He cleared his throat, correcting his posture. "Tsa! For future reference, please refer to him as 'Grand Chancellor', he might'nt mind, but just heads up, in case it vasn't him." He laughed nervously. "I'm sure you are familiar with our Fel'ce allies?" he turned back to the draconic dignitaries. "I do hope your trip down vas calm, yes? Anyway! ve shall show you once our dear Fel'ce have finished conversing." His eyes turned to his sabre. Curious, it was most likely of Fel'cen make to him.
The Constable motioned his deputy, Radomir to converse with the dignitaries. The lone bannerman rode up to the emperor-errant, dismounting and bowing deeply. He disregarded the routine heraldic protocols as Petro was never really fond of such menial chatter.
The emperor's name entered one ear and out the other, unable to keep up with the ridiculously long name. Regardless, he smiled. "An honour, Starazh Tamren! I can..." He paused looking at the intimidating stature of the Ruuk. "see dat..." He gulped nervously, obviously intimidated by their insane height. He cleared his throat, correcting his posture. "Tsa! For future reference, please refer to him as 'Grand Chancellor', he might'nt mind, but just heads up, in case it vasn't him." He laughed nervously. "I'm sure you are familiar with our Fel'ce allies?" he turned back to the draconic dignitaries. "I do hope your trip down vas calm, yes? Anyway! ve shall show you once our dear Fel'ce have finished conversing." His eyes turned to his sabre. Curious, it was most likely of Fel'cen make to him.
Tamren nodded. "We've met the Fel'ce on occasion, although not as frequently as I'd like. It's been a bear of a time getting the Ruuk to come out of hiding. There' s a reason not many people have seen swords quite like mine," he said, patting the hilt of the sword at his side. The Ruuk Saber* was indeed a very unique design, with its secondary tine, and even a seasoned swordsman may have looked at it curiously and wondered at how to use it effectively. It was the weapon Tamren had trained with for a very long time, however, and its uniqueness gave it an interesting edge in combat (pun intended).
"Anyway, the road was quiet at the least. Who else are we expecting to meet here?"
*Image linked to Tamren's profile
Kel nodded gracefully. "Thank you, your hospitality has been wonderful, although I do wish I had had more time to see your beautiful country. I'm sure I must make the time to come down again when I have more time. Do you know who else we're awaiting? And is the Grand Chancellor greeting us? I had intended to present him with a gift."
The short redhead's eyes glanced around and caught sight of the eight-foot-tall Ruuk and the other short redhead at their front. Tamren appeared to be a very similar man to himself; Kel made a mental note to go and introduce himself whenever he got the chance. In the meanwhile, he glanced back at the man who had been speaking to him.
"Do you know anything about the fellow with the big monsters?" Kel said with a conspiratorial look. "I've never seen anything like them before."
The short redhead's eyes glanced around and caught sight of the eight-foot-tall Ruuk and the other short redhead at their front. Tamren appeared to be a very similar man to himself; Kel made a mental note to go and introduce himself whenever he got the chance. In the meanwhile, he glanced back at the man who had been speaking to him.
"Do you know anything about the fellow with the big monsters?" Kel said with a conspiratorial look. "I've never seen anything like them before."
The deputy nodded, smiling at the Emperor-Errant. His gaze then directed to his sabre. "Sabar?" He muttered to himself. The Vilkans were well accustomed to the sabre, with the Fel'ce having introduced the advanced metallurgy to them long ago to create such weapons. Although, to the deputy's knowledge, he wasn't well accustomed to such interesting designs from up north.
He looked back up, retaining a broad smile. "Um... I heard vord dat Red Emperor is on his way..." A slight sense of anxiety was present in his otherwise, professional stance. He had heard of the Polemarch's ruthless treatment of the Astir and her people. Perhaps it'd be wise to lead them now before it's too late. "Besides dat, I dink dat's everyone! Ve are splitting the Regiment, so, Tsanat Tamren, you may take my lead." He bowed deeply and promptly escorted him and his Ruuk allies atop horseback, to the Crown Lands of Nova Dukari. The Fel'ce were still left with Constable Petro as he was, conversing with them at his own leisure.
At Nova Dukari
Before long, the Astirian dignitaries arrive at the Dukar Plain, accompanied by deputy Radomir. Punctual, very... This gave the redhead a time to glance at the Emperor and his retinue. The herald looked to the retinue and then to his Banner. "Someone-"
"I've already done it, Novazh!" Radomir called out to the herald. He nodded and turned his attention back at Kel.
"Tsa! The Grand Chancellor shall meet with you accordingly. In mean time, vy not come in and make yourselves comfortable, yes?" The Skauldri were still seen entering the gates. "As for the Tsanat, I cannot give the answer so readily, for even I do not know much about dem. Apologies, Starazh..." He paused. "How old are you, anyway?"
He looked back up, retaining a broad smile. "Um... I heard vord dat Red Emperor is on his way..." A slight sense of anxiety was present in his otherwise, professional stance. He had heard of the Polemarch's ruthless treatment of the Astir and her people. Perhaps it'd be wise to lead them now before it's too late. "Besides dat, I dink dat's everyone! Ve are splitting the Regiment, so, Tsanat Tamren, you may take my lead." He bowed deeply and promptly escorted him and his Ruuk allies atop horseback, to the Crown Lands of Nova Dukari. The Fel'ce were still left with Constable Petro as he was, conversing with them at his own leisure.
At Nova Dukari
Before long, the Astirian dignitaries arrive at the Dukar Plain, accompanied by deputy Radomir. Punctual, very... This gave the redhead a time to glance at the Emperor and his retinue. The herald looked to the retinue and then to his Banner. "Someone-"
"I've already done it, Novazh!" Radomir called out to the herald. He nodded and turned his attention back at Kel.
"Tsa! The Grand Chancellor shall meet with you accordingly. In mean time, vy not come in and make yourselves comfortable, yes?" The Skauldri were still seen entering the gates. "As for the Tsanat, I cannot give the answer so readily, for even I do not know much about dem. Apologies, Starazh..." He paused. "How old are you, anyway?"