[Bardona] Foul Play [Jean]

[Caladrin]

33rd Frost, 4621

It was weird, that feeling of someone breathing down your neck; it was a constant side effect as Caladrin had been directed to meet an unknown confidant as directed by his family; it had been a troubling time for the young Entente, through all the trials and tribulations he walked through. He was beginning to understand the terms of life, he had humbled himself to the possibility that death could be just one doorstep away.

Caladrin had been sent to the Landrys Estate to meet an unknown confidant. Strange. He did not know that his own family had dealings outside of Amoren. Bardona of all places; home to the Montese, Lierel Lorraine; the first Sil'Norai Montese to ever be appointed as a Montien. Caladrin was unsure why he had been summoned, it somewhat unnerved him with all the political drama that an Entente man delivers upon themselves is only baffling and yet extremely worrisome.

After arriving through a few hallways; he eventually made it to Bardona. It was rife with Veir houses and the cityscape was pretty busy. He walked through dressed in a black jacket, enlaced with intricate floral patterns, enlaced with golden embroidery, silken gloves. as well as black tightly fitted slacks and a pair of gilded riding boots. He had made his way down the staircase all the way to find the address that he was looking for.

84 Landrys Estate
4 Gleaming Way

Those were highlighted amongst the notice he had been given by his family, although Bardona was quite a massive scope of land; it could be anywhere as a peasant would shout "Beware! The Tired Quill! Beware, Nim! She's a witch!" He rolled his eyes and shook his head at the peasant most of the population of Daravin were are all witches "Gosh, Ulen... Bless this man with a brain" He said quietly "Suppose, I'll have to find this myself..." He said as he noticed the street sign written in Common.

Gleaming Way

Caladrin was close as he made his way down the street, inspecting the numbers on each side. He knew the way houses were built, from odd numbers one side, even numbers another. With that format he instantly found the place. It appeared to be a gated community, just like all the other houses as Caladrin entered and shut the gate. He looked around curiously as he stepped onto the territory of Landyrs Lorraine; not that he knew who the man was, or why he was here in the first place but it appeared that there were more questions than answers.

He approached the door cautiously and knocked a few times, before stepping back. He sighed as he ensured that his attire was best fitted as he adjusted himself, ensuring that no dust had been left from the cold haze that has lit the frost months up. He waited patiently as there was a question that pondered within Caladrin's mind.

Who was this unknown confidant and why did his family send him here of all places?

[Jean]

.

Duty
Commitment and loyalty; who are we without these things?

.

It was a peculiar thing. Much of the world Jean knew was written in Gentevarese, or else the native words of his people, Silvain. Every other sign for Gleaming Way was spelled out 'Lueurant Ch.' and yet, though Jean had never studied the Common tongue of the heathens and barbaric men, Gleaming Way glared at him as the two words he'd known most from that language.

When he'd asked about the road name, his father told him that it was the first and last day of employ for a Rathor sign maker hired to replace it following a gouting bout of magical dueling that had wrought havoc upon the corner. It so happened that tonight was a lapse in the montese' security to their gated little paradise. The entryway - the main gate choking access to the highest echelon of the noble district - was left unmanned without a Halamire to chauffeur and offer direction.

Not only were the men trading off, but they had paused to witness the initiation of a young, white haired Sil'Norai from one of the lower families. Jean's little brother, who was so delusioned to have sought his second initiation so young, was squaring up with Devaux Lorraine, one of Jean's older siblings who would soon be bequeathing him an as-of-yet-unknown Mark of Control. Roughly half the Landrys-Dal'Dania boys were given Malformity as their first mark upon the day of their birth, with the other half being initiated into Resonance. More of the Malformists made it to puberty, but the few Resoners who survived on the merits of their wails were often crippled and angry with their lives, their family, and a lack of acknowledgment. Yet they were no less divine, so they clawed at power early, and being worthy for the expense of a Necromantic operation was lorded over them like treats to a dog. Such a spectacle was happening now, in those star-speckled tents beyond the veil of nature.

With parties came a lack of sobriety, and a lapse in refinement for some. It was a popular past time to make light of the peasantry by pretending to be them, with the younger Sil'Norai Halamire spooking foreigners with elaborate pranks of ill-refinement before scurrying off to deny all such 'defamatory remarks' with their snobby, stiff-backed postures and hastily donned finer clothing. It was something of a game to play with the Candor, and many of them had not yet learned that such games could spell death or downfall. What if someone cut down a peasant accosting them in the street? Oh, the Veir would dance on their graves and erase all mention of them for daring to bring shame to the Montese!

This was a party to be celebrated, an occasion of divinity, or a solemn nod to what wasn't meant to be. The main attraction for the night, and yet . . . Jean was not there to play along. Live or die, what did he care for them? His brothers were the each of them rivals who would surely cast him down for the Montese' pearls. And he had so many. Necromancy saw to it that a several new kin were born every season, and his family had been at this game far before he was ever born. His family tree was more of an island on an ocean than anything resembling nature.

Caladrin would have passed beyond the pavilions walled in by gardens and hedges to Landrys estate, a brightly lit wonder with several servants scurrying about. That door creaked open, and a tall, spindly fellow with a finely oiled and tweezed stache, and a jerry-curled, curly-cued long, greyish hair-do that surely must have been a pompous wig peered at Caladrin through dead eyes without a hint of surprise in his shallow, hoarse voice. "Name?" There was a clipboard in his frill-cuffed, pasty-white gloved hands.

Jean arrived from behind, and set a palm upon the dim man's shoulderblades, causing him to stiffen with that audible smack. "This one's mine."

"Ulen's grace, Jean!" croaked the servant as he twisted aside, allowing the short Sil-Norai to step through the door. The first thing that stood out about Jean - other than his white hair tied back in a ponytail, and his militaristic black, silver-adorned jack - was those brightly lit, fiery eyes contrasting sharply against everything about him.

Holding up a paper sent to him with a sketch of Caladrin's features, he compared the two eye to eye. "Cal. Uh. Drin," he spoke with quick tact. "Did I get that name right?" There was a fake smile upon his lips, the chameleon at work, as he always was. "Jean Lorraine, son of Landrys Lorraine, and nephew to Lady Lierel Lorraine. I have been given orders to govern your security for these coming days, and I would appreciate your discretion."

Rather than crowd the door, Jean pushed beyond down the steps as he spoke in Silvain with gusto. "I have been asked to provide security for you... and my little brother is throwing a party for a gamble, oh, Ulen's auspicious praises sing upon my house! Will they disappoint? Another soul for His waiting embrace. Caladrin." He paused his sonorous entrance, rolling a finger in front of him with a gay flick towards the darker roads leading to the quiet streets of strolling, noble rabble. "We should avoid the party. My job will be easier if we wait to welcome you into my home until everyone's gossiping mothers have burned their eyes with boredom, yet if you wish to be difficult, then yes, we may participate in those tiresome games."

Rolling in his own frills and tucking them in beneath his cuffs and boots, Jean clicked his feet on the smooth, cobbled driving way. "Truth to you, my mysterious ward, I was told little as to the nature of our meeting beyond that I am to protect you from, and I quote, 'the scum who would threaten him to wither and despoil the fruit of Sil'Othis with greed', and by the look of you, we are in the same predicament."

Jean paused, and gave a curt nod. A form of polite greeting in this touch-averse world as his fingers roiled just beneath his chin. Looking Caladrin up and down there on the street, he gave a few more words. "When the party begins to smolder, I shall bring you to the guest rooms, hm? Until then, there is a nice place to stroll along the glowing bell flower gardens of my proud neighbor, Lady Coton, whom I assure you has meticulously arranged her cultivars in an artistry that can only be appreciated on a night when the moon is dead such as this one."

Clasping his arms behind his back, he positioned himself to Caladrin's side and began to escort him down the street towards a rising hill of twinkling blue lights. There was clearly, truly, no choice being offered to stay at the party despite what Jean had mentioned earlier. His facial features darkened as the golden light faded, falling to a starkly contrasted, grim suspicion, face shallowly illuminated by those eyes as they peered through every darkened corner of the street.

They would be safer in Lady Coton's garden. It was a place with one way in, and one way out. If danger had followed Caladrin here, then that is where it would strike in the coming hour.

[Caladrin]

In order to make yourself a name, you must play the game.

Another reminder that Caladrin had entered ruthless territory as the pompous wig was awaiting a name, Caladrin was about to speak until a shorter Sil'Norai man came through. His features' where striking. His black silver-adorned jacket gave of a militaristic impression, although the features that gave him away was his fiery golden eyes. They looked at him, almost reptilian in nature; it was normal for Caladrin to feel unnerved, but yet his expression was motionless as they spoke. A paper had the sketch of his feature's perfectly traced out. A chisel jaw, smooth complexion and short brown hair, followed by the heterochromatic differences in his eyes. One silver, one gold. It was obvious he was Sil'Norai like the gentleman who stood before him. Yet, there was an air of mistrust regarding man in front of him.

"That's right." He responded in Silvain as he made brief eye contact with Jean, noticing that there was a party going on in the other room, Caladrin did not entertain the prospect, rather simply stepped away "I see..." He spoke in their native tongue once again, although remained very much anonymous to the Sil'Norai male. Predicting a friend from a foe proved to be a more difficult task at hand, especially in the hands of the Daravinic Empire. He didn't speak much, just gave gestures as they pushed down the steps "Oh Please..." He smiled slightly as he moved his head in a reptilian fashion as he stopped in motion for a second, listening to the fellow noble below him as he rolled his finger. His entrance was somewhat flamboyant, yet displeasing to Caladrin. He crossed his arms "Probably a good idea, such events are known to only invite chaos, corruption, debauchery and even the darkest of pleasures. I won't go there though, I'll assume you'll know what I'm talking about." He said quietly.

His eyebrow raised, he watched Jean for a moment as his gaze shifted to the street, watching the noble rabble walk by. It was common for Caladrin to become curious about such a place, especially since he had never been invited to such a prestigious home. His home back in Amoren was enough trouble as it is, yet he did not think about the family pressures that were put on him, but more of the void that he was trying to fill. The void that would get bigger each time; he didn't know his purpose in life, only he had been born, survived two grueling initiations and was sent to Nardothis for further study. As much as his stepfather coaxed him, the arguements between his family would continue as everyone didn't see eye to eye. That was ok in this society. Everyone was pawns. Chesspieces waiting to be taken down by the kings and queens in this world. The biggest predator amongst men. Avarice and power.

Caladrin sighed as he opened his mouth to speak "Truth be told, I wasn't told of the nature of our meeting either. Although as you can tell, families all have their secrets." He reluctantly nodded as if the sense of passive aggression could be seen. A common feature amongst the Entente whenever they are pressed with the matters of not speaking. He heard about his proud neighbour, Lady Coton as well as the talk of glowing bell flower gardens. He smiled as his curiosity was perked for a moment. Artistry, plantlife and wild creatures did interest Caladrin, it was an attunement brought on by his green magic, gifted to him by his stepfather. A rather strange gift for a second initiation.

His shoulders tensed up as the other man positioned to his side, it appeared Jean had hit a nerve, yet he nodded and spoke "Why, that's most kind, I must say though I wasn't expecting to be interrupting such important matters; if the party is that important to you" He added. It clearly wasn't, it was an exchange of pleasantries and conversation. The discomfort had already settled in, now he knew how the slave boy he met felt about the first time. It was like having a shadow looming over you constantly. The contraction of his Adam's apple; followed by the clenching of his jaw gave an impression of anxiety, which he concealed as he focused on the view uphill.

The twinkling blue lights from the bellflower gardens could be seen, although his features darkened; an air of concern it seemed as it would appear that the grim moment would be his duty. Alas, they may be safer in Lady Coton's garden.

For now.

When they arrived, he would discover that what Jean had said was true. It was artistry as if the moon had been brightly lit amongst the gardens. A blue moon for that matter. Yet, one of them appeared to have been losing it's glow. It was dying, judging it's dim light "One moment..." He said with such a pause that he stepped over to the flower in question "You call this, great cultivation? It's dying, clearly someone has been somewhat neglectful." He spoke out in Silvain as the temptation to use his magic became prominent. However, information had it's price. Was he going to risk giving away that information, revealing it to him on the first day he met him? The empathy he felt couldn't resist the urge to. He simply removed his glove and channeled his magic. A green pulsating light would rush from his finger tips as green small tethers would link to a pile of grass in the corner of the garden.

The grass would slowly wilt, wither and lose it's colouration as it was drained of it's life as it was converted to a glittering turquoise dust which floated towards Caladrin. He dispersed it onto the dying flower healing it as it regained it's light slowly. He remained calm and collective as if nothing had happened. However, had he revealed too much already? Was this the reason why his family had sought to protect Caladrin? Who knows, all he knew was he was in the presence of a highly prestigious Veir from a family who had claimed Cisperant on their own merit.

"It's only a small patch, it'll fix. It's a worthy sacrifice." He spoke out in their native tongue as he continued walking through the gardens with Jean.