Epistle

Museum Antechamber 


 * Dressed in a livery of black and white marble, the Main Antechamber remains identical to all the other chambers within the Fastheld Museum of Artifacts; high, wide, and filled with all kids of rare and unique items from all eras of history. The cool black marble of the walls and support pillars remain the major structural points of interest within this main room, all of which feature pristine white marble trim to contrast the expensive scheme of color just perfectly.


 * Great arched windows, each featuring a different tint of glass, allow the warmth of light to stream into the otherwise cold gallery; each glinting with different shades of colour, depending on the window those beams that choose to shine through. Finally, the floor itself is set in a beautiful abstract pattern of different colored marble that holds no real image to it, remaining as random as it is captivating to behold. Stanchions rest upon each support pillar, holding torches upon them that remain ready to be lit once night falls, indicating that - just like justice - the Museum never sleeps.


 * A staircases can be found in this area that leads upstairs to the popular Vault of Weapons, while an arched passageway to the north leads to the equally popular Vault of Armor. Another large arched doorway to the east leads into the East Wing and the Vault of Jewelry, while an adjacent arch leads into the West Wing and the Vault of Relics. The Main Antechamber itself plays host to a number of paintings and a few mannequins of the clothing of famous figures from history. Guards clad in the crimson armor of the Imperial Tribunal maintain an ever vigilant watch over the area.

History is a mighty dramos, enacted upon the theatre of times, with suns for lamps and eternity for a background. The Fastheld Museum of Artifacts is one such theatre, with the actors and their lines presented in well maintained cases and displays for all to see and watch. Though their performances are silent, they speak in volumes both epic and inspiring all the same. On the Sixth hour by the Shadow on Lanternglow, the 7th day of Huntsmoon, one such spectator of these presentations is that of Prince Serath Kahar, clad in his usual ensemble of a matte-black soft-leather surcoat above black leather pants and boots that speak more of his gregarious nature than they do of any aspirations of being 'model' royalty. With a silver crossbow clipped to his belt, and a curious glimmer within the ethereal depths of his blue eyes, the Wildcat seems to be entertaining himself with the selection of relics and artifacts of a ranged-weapon nature. It is perhaps amusing to note that the Guards from the Tribunal look more alert than the best hunting dogs in Fastheld.

Footsteps and the curious rattle of plate armor drifts from the stairway, a whisper that quickly builds to a crescendo, merrily echoing off marble and glass. Iron sabatons fall against the marble floor as the man who breaks the peace, Tiris Kahar, finally enters the Vault.

The recently minted Duke Kahar looks a bit winded, after his ascent, but not enough to prevent him from politely acknowledging the guards with a favorable nod. His pale blue eyes shift along the room, crinkling thoughtfully at their corners, before settling upon the Prince of the Blood. A proud, pleased hum rumbles forth from the elder of the Wildcats as he turns to approach his kinsman. Smooth though his gait may be, his armor still rattles, as does the Sunkissed longsword Azuredge, which hangs obediently at his side.

It's a rumble and a certain cacophony of plate and dissonance of chainmail that elicits a casual kind of comment from the Prince: "You voted against the amendment." One might note that there's no inflection that would suggest a question, but rather a statement of fact. The tone itself is neither approving nor accusational. Serath himself doesn't look back to the approaching individual, but instead seems to be fixated upon a crossbow known as Valgard's Vice, and the bronze information plaque that rests beneath it.

"I did," Tiris rumbles, his deep baritone confident and direct. He stops a step to the side of Serath and turns his eyes upon the large crossbow. The Duke does not, however, seem terribly interested in Valgard's Vice. Rather, he continues to speak, sparing frequent glances at the Prince. "It seemed a half-measure, or less. Nearly no Mark at all."

A moment of silence follows, and Tiris shifts within his armor. His voice actually takes a small, small hint of tension as he says, "The vote was put up by you, your Highness, so I take it that you disagree?"

"Not at all," is Serath's answer to that question as he pokes at Valgard's Vice once or twice with a gloved hand, just because he's the Prince and can do that kind of thing without someone fainting in shock at the sheer audacity of the action.

Of course, Wildcats are a curious sort, but with his curiosity satisfied for now the Prince stands to turn and face Tiris directly, offering a disarming smile of sorts to his older counterpart. "There just aren't that many people I know who wear armor as if it were mere velvet, so I wanted to see how you answered that question - mostly to hear your voice, as much as your answer. That I haven’t been crushed beneath a barrage of words means you're not Celeste Mikin, and that you haven't caused some kind of mass disaster yet means you're not Duke Lomasa."

It can be said that there are probably few things left in Fastheld that surprise Serath Kahar; however, the abruptness of that statement is one of those few things, prompting the Wildcat Prince to react with an almost doubtful expression that soon melts into familar curiosity. "Well, it's been said that people don't usually seek out the Prince unless they want something," he finally purrs, "However, this remains unexpected, considering the source. Tiris, what could I possibly offer that your own exceptional honor does not already accommodate?"

"I debated with myself for a time whether to bring this up with you or not. Ultimately, I decided that it could do no harm..." Tiris turns from the display to face Serath squarely. One hand rests on the pommel of Azuredge, and the other hangs idly at his side. "Your Highness," he begins, his manner rich with gravitas, "I wish your letter of recommendation for my Knighthood." He allows only a half-beat before adding, "I know, I could recommend myself, as Duke Lomasa did, but that does not sit well with me."

"There has been discontent within the Tribunal regarding the Order of the Imperial Crown," Serath offers, apparently disregarding the request as he elaborates, "Some claim that Duke Lomasa isn't quite what they were expecting, and that the overall support for the Knight-Errants has been somewhat waning after the anticipation it initially received." There are a few moments of silence that interject themselves in the wake of that statement, the Prince opting to watch Tiris throughout the orchestrated quiescence before adding: "However, I think that Duke Tiris Kahar, Knight-Captain of the Imperial House, former Rider of the Imperial Horsemen, and Knight-Errant of the Order of the Imperial Crown, should go a long way to quell such opinions, wouldn't you say?"

Tiris is unable to restrain the smile that deepens across his face, crinkling the crow's feet in the corners of his eyes. "I can only hope, your Highness," he rumbles with an eager nod. "I shall strive, as always, to serve the Light, my Empire, and my House. Light willing, I will prove worthy of this honor in your eyes, and the eyes of the Empire." He exhales lengthily, then, and his armor seems to shrink around him. With less seriousness, and more affection, he adds, "Thank you for this, my old friend."

"I'll prowl my way over to the Tribunal once I'm done here and intrude upon someone, and then stare at them until they have it done," Serath muses, looking back to the crossbow upon the display stand in front of him, and then promptly shrugging to himself a moment later. "Actually, I think I'll go now. If I were you, I would start thinking about who you want to act as witness for you in the Solace Glade. I imagine you'll be heading there soon enough, after all."

"Very true... I shall give it some thought, your Highness," Tiris replies as he, too, looks back to the crossbow for a moment of contemplation. The moment passes and Duke Kahar takes a step back from the Prince. "Once more, your Highness, you have my thanks." He bows simply, as well as the bulk of his plate will allow. "If I may ever do anything more to serve, I hope you will not hestiate to call upon me."

Now that prompts an amused smile from the younger Wildcat, and the makings of an ephemeral sigh. "Tiris," Serath states, "You have nothing to prove in my eyes, no honor to sanction, no merit to attest, and no thanks to give. All that needs to be established has already been established, and though I may be the Sovereign Prince of the Blood - among numerous other titles that are far too long and tiresome to dictate - you are my friend, and my comrade, and I would have you talk to me as such, rather than as royalty."

Tiris actually looks embarrassed for a moment, an expression that appears downright surreal on the weathered face of the old warrior. He reaches up to rub the back of his neck, an action which stretches the flexibility of his armor, and replies, "My apologies, old friend. Since your brother passed, I see the Empire and the Light in you more than ever... But aye, I can see how tiresome that must be, particularly coming from one who knows you well enough to see past the symbolism."

He pauses, nods to himself, then adds, "Serath, you know how to find me if you need me."

Serath offers a nod of affirmation at that, evidently satisfied with the reaction and subsequent resolution. "And I would dare say that you might just be one of the few people in Fastheld who knows how to find me when you need me," the Wildcat finally muses, before patting Tiris's left chainmail rerebrace and heading stalking off to - one would imagine - hold true to his word regarding the letter of recommendation.

''Return to Season 6 (2007)