Post by Candace on Mar 2, 2020 22:17:28 GMT -5
The dust has settled after the Trails of Gorum and the liberation of the former State of Dranik. The kingdom has expanded once again, welcoming this new region into the protection of the Marches. After a period of turmoil and loss, the rest is nice change of pace. All eyes look forward to a new spring season, and happier events to mark King Reggie’s official coronation and the official deeding of your kingdom, The Lupine Marches, as its own sovereign country.
Representatives of many neighboring kingdoms are in attendance, with only a few conspicuous absences. The state of Pitax and the lands of Daggermark have sent neither representative nor a messenger with their regrets of missing the great festivities.
One week before the spring equinox the capital is abuzz with visitors of all kinds. Centaurs have made the long trip to the capitol, stone giants and kobolds are dressed in their finest and trying to stay clear of the bustle of the townsfolk. Even the Boggards and Lizardfold have sent representatives to swear their fealty to the newly crowned king and his council. From the air you hear sounds of laughter like that of tinkling bells as your eyes catch fleeting sights of pixies and fairie dragons flitting through the air. At a few points throughout the fanfare you even spot the Old Beldame conversing with a silver eyed elf of immaculate dress.
The coronation marks the beginning of a month of celebration. The roads are lined with streamers and dancing lights. Fireworks fill the night sky as the scents of roasted meats, and honeyed fruits and sweet wines drift on the early spring breezes.
As the first rays of sun begin to caress the still dew kissed blades of grass in the glade, butterflies of all colors take flight from the carpet of flowers. The area is dotted with pavilions, silver wings cast large shadows as they shrink down from a stretch into a slender elven form. Jeremy, the master of ceremonies, dressed in a very smart vest and top hat glides above the ceremony grounds surveying all the preparations. There is a palpable excitement in the air… it is time for the Royal Weddings.
Lady Quintessa sits patiently in the sun at the edge of the glistening lake. The deep purples and shimmering silks of her gown contrast against her fair skin. Birds sit around her enraptured by song.
Miss Svetlana looks over at the cooking tent periodically, as if tempted to attend to the food and lend what assistance she can. She hardly looks to belong in the kitchen today, in her pale blue dress. The pixies had brought this one for her especially.
Even Kundal, usually out for days at a time on patrol is cleaned up, his hair brushed and pulled back away from his face, his tunic new black leather and studded in platinum.
He pulls Moira aside and presents her with a gown he had made for her. The pale cream skirt dotted with thousands of handmade butterflies which move gently in the breeze.
Representatives of many neighboring kingdoms are in attendance, with only a few conspicuous absences. The state of Pitax and the lands of Daggermark have sent neither representative nor a messenger with their regrets of missing the great festivities.
One week before the spring equinox the capital is abuzz with visitors of all kinds. Centaurs have made the long trip to the capitol, stone giants and kobolds are dressed in their finest and trying to stay clear of the bustle of the townsfolk. Even the Boggards and Lizardfold have sent representatives to swear their fealty to the newly crowned king and his council. From the air you hear sounds of laughter like that of tinkling bells as your eyes catch fleeting sights of pixies and fairie dragons flitting through the air. At a few points throughout the fanfare you even spot the Old Beldame conversing with a silver eyed elf of immaculate dress.
The coronation marks the beginning of a month of celebration. The roads are lined with streamers and dancing lights. Fireworks fill the night sky as the scents of roasted meats, and honeyed fruits and sweet wines drift on the early spring breezes.
As the first rays of sun begin to caress the still dew kissed blades of grass in the glade, butterflies of all colors take flight from the carpet of flowers. The area is dotted with pavilions, silver wings cast large shadows as they shrink down from a stretch into a slender elven form. Jeremy, the master of ceremonies, dressed in a very smart vest and top hat glides above the ceremony grounds surveying all the preparations. There is a palpable excitement in the air… it is time for the Royal Weddings.
Lady Quintessa sits patiently in the sun at the edge of the glistening lake. The deep purples and shimmering silks of her gown contrast against her fair skin. Birds sit around her enraptured by song.
Miss Svetlana looks over at the cooking tent periodically, as if tempted to attend to the food and lend what assistance she can. She hardly looks to belong in the kitchen today, in her pale blue dress. The pixies had brought this one for her especially.
Even Kundal, usually out for days at a time on patrol is cleaned up, his hair brushed and pulled back away from his face, his tunic new black leather and studded in platinum.
He pulls Moira aside and presents her with a gown he had made for her. The pale cream skirt dotted with thousands of handmade butterflies which move gently in the breeze.