A Dreamwalker's Wedding

[heirtothearcane]

People invited to Viatorus and Runa’s wedding had received an ornate invitation with gold printed lettering highlighting the most important details. It is to be an afternoon event followed by a dinner and entertainment, all in the English countryside. Nexus guests are escorted from the multiversal hub to the manor by Lyall, who PINpoints each group to the manor where they are greeted by Durant servants. Guests were also provided with a list of recommended guidelines to follow, and once they arrive they will be asked to choose their dinner order so that the correct number of dishes can be prepared. Stones are provided to those who need translations for the ceremony with the assurances that the Translator will be able to allow them to understand everything so long as they hold the stone. With gifts taken, queries answered, and preparations made, the guests are led to the ceremony.

The Ceremony

 

For those who had been to the engagement party the outdoor setting will not be a surprise. The day is cool, but bright, the warmth of the sunlight somewhat mitigated by the brisk breeze. Guests are led along a gravel path, past perfect hedges and carefully placed flowers, the vast lawn surrounded by trees that they soon find themselves walking through. The area they arrive in is staked out by poles that twist around quartz orbs at the top and give the ribbons stretched from each side an anchor. As soon as guests pass underneath these ribbons they’ll find the air still and much warmer than on their way over. The chairs, thankfully, are not uncomfortable, and people mill about in their fine clothes, chatting and laughing while they await the main event. Runa’s father and Oraskis in particular are deep in conversation interrupted by intermittent bouts of laughter.

 

These rows of chairs all face a marble gazebo, similarly decorated with white flowers and lavender ribbons, that looks out onto a lake. Two large chairs sit raised a few inchesfrom the ground, facing the guests. The edges of the floor are lined with pomegranates, olives and flowers, and a low table holds bunches of a whole host of items. Three priestesses in their dark purple robes tend to the gazebo, sweeping away fallen petals or ensuring the few instruments on the small wooden table are correct. To the side of the gazebo a handful of musicians sit with a harp, a lyre, a flute and a small drum. They play while they wait, as though the music is their own internal small talk. 

 

A few people, servants and priestesses pass back and forth between the mansion in the distance and the congregation until the excitement becomes palpable. Finally Lieselotte and a few older relatives settle into their seats with a few of the Nyströms across the aisle. It’s at this point the musicians stop playing, straightening up and taking a final sip of water before they prepare themselves. The woman stuck to the Alter family bids them to sit while she goes to take her place by the gazebo. She holds up the etched stone in her hand and instructs those who have one to hold it in their palms, and repeats the instruction in several languages. The priestesses ask everyone to take their seats and then take their places within the marble structure. A tense silence begins to descend upon the small crowd.

 

The music starts up which only makes the stillness all the more noticeable. A drum beat - Once, twice, the third and fourth in quick succession. Gradually a voice breaks through the music. A single woman singing out in Ancient Greek. Her verse ends and there is a moment of silence. The musicians and the priestesses start up in unison, singing back a heartfelt response. Their refrain ends and the musicians play softly as the lone singer replies. As she does several figures comes into view. Two young women, not much more than girls, bear torches and lead the way. Behind them an older woman holds a platter with an assortment of foods which leave a sweet and spiced scent as it passes. The priest comes into view then, a book held carefully in his hands. Behind him the Archon decked in a fine suit of black and embroidered gold, his ornate sash holding gleaming medals, walks hand in hand with a woman who could be a marble statue of the Renaissance come to life, though her robes are a deep and shimmering purple, a gold rope for a belt and a golden crown of laurels holds a veil over her face. Behind them is another priestess, singing out her verses and pausing for the refrain. With the prompt of several Durants, the crowd rises to their feet as the procession approaches. All but one of the priestesses at the gazebo continue singing as they spin around, showering the procession with flower petals.

 

When they reach the end of the aisle, the priestess still at the gazebo speaks loudly, clearly, “Despoina, Mistress of the House, Lady of this land, Mother of our family, we welcome you to our home.” Those holding a stone as instructed hear the words in their native language as an echo with a woman’s voice. “Lady of the veil, who is wise beyond all others, whose grace and nobility inspires all your servants; You honour us with your presence.”

 

Those the Archon and Mistress pass bow their heads, whispering greetings or staring in wide eyed awe. The veil over the goddess’ face make it difficult to pick out the face of the woman wearing it. For those who look closely, it’s almost as though her features shift ever so slightly, giving the impression of a face layered on top of another face. Both she and the Archon remain forward facing as they step calmly down the aisle.

 

“Despoina, keeper of secret arts and sacred mysteries, we invite you to this wedding.” The priestesses leading the procession part to stand either side of the steps to the gazebo. “Honoured of Hera, gifted by Hecate, guided by Persephone, guarded by Artemis, who work through you on this hallowed occasion. We invite you to be our guest and bless this joyous day. Welcome!”

 

That final greeting is echoed by a shuddering drum beat and the music stops suddenly, the priestesses all bow, bending at the waist simultaneously. The priest holds out an arm towards the thrones and waits patiently, head bowed, as they pass him. Despoina takes her seat first while the Archon keeps his hand raised for her to support herself. Only once she is seated does he take his place beside her. With the collective consensus of church goers, everyone settles back into their seats and the priestesses take positions in and around the gazebo. One of them hands the priest a staff who stands it on the floor and it stretches, growing and twisting like a plant until he’s able to set his book on branches that look made for it. 

 

Though young, the priest speaks confidently to the guests, projecting his voice while keeping a sense of reverence in his voice. “The house has been formed. The dragon and the goddess united; As it was, is, and always shall be.” 

 

Then he turns to the Archon and the goddess. “We present to you the young couple for your blessings.”

 

With this said, the musicians start up again in a gentler tune than the one before. Those in the gazebo stare patiently into the distance while curious guests shift and crane their necks for a glimpse of the happy couple. The first to come into sight is a young girl, Runa’s niece, in a little lavender dress with embroidered flowers. She trots down the aisle tossing out petals, nervously at first, and then grins proudly when she catches sight of some of the charmed older women. When she reaches the gazebo, however, she freezes and stares wide-eyed at the Archon and goddess before sketching out a small curtsy. The goddess moves slightly closer to the Archon who glances at her, then looks to Theresa and his mouth tugs upwards as he gives a small wink. Delighted, she beams again and trots over to her waiting mother.

 

Runa and Viatorus appear together, hand in hand just as the Archon and the goddess were, albeit in more muted colours. Viatorus’ suit is grey, and his intricately embroidered waistcoat is white. His shimmering lilac cravat mirrors the purple roses and small wildflowers dancing around the white lilies in Runa’s bouquet, while his deep purple sash asserts the formality of the occasion. Beside him, Runa is the picture of a spring princess. Her white dress flows freely;  Floral patterns dance about her waist, up across her torso and around the corners of her shoulders. It’s a design which walks the narrow line between innocent beauty and seductive femininity. Like Despoina, she has a veil covering her face, pinned in place with a crown of silver knotwork, though hers is white and her nervous smile is quite visible underneath. Behind Viatorus, Harrowheart follows in a similar grey suit with a lilac cravat which makes his blue complexion seem slightly less pale than a dark suit might. Isidor walks beside him in a lilac dress with a single strap of floral lace that covers her torso, contrasted by her own sash of gleaming red. It’s a slightly different dress to the full fronted ones of the three of Runa’s sisters who became bridesmaids and who finish off the procession in single file. Each person bows or curtsies once they reach the gazebo. The bridesmaids stand to the side nearest to Runa who hands her bouquet to Isidor, while Harrowheart mirrors them on the side nearest to Viatorus, pausing only briefly to set his sword beside Oraskis.

 

The priest prompts Viatorus and Runa to step towards the thrones and bow. When they rise a few quiet words are exchanged, unheard and untranslated for the guests. A few minutes later, the couple rise and move back and few steps, sharing a small smile. 

 

Turning his head to the sky and holding his palms upwards, the priest begins. “Almighty Olympians, strongest and wisest of all, we invite you to watch over this ceremony, and to bless your servants. Noble Norse gods, we welcome you to our home and we honour you with this celebration.” Despite his youthful appearance, the priest seems confident in going through the motions as he returns his attention to the guests. “We are here today to witness the union of a young man and a young woman, of two houses, of two pantheons, of two powers. They embark on the same journey that made the noble Durant house, following in the footsteps of the dragon and the goddess. Each are powerful, but together, united, they are greater than they could ever hope to be alone.”

 

The eldest priestess takes a chalice, removing the cloth resting over the top, and handing it to the priest who brings it to the goddess. “As a symbol of trust, and of celebration, I offer this drink to the members of the new house being made here today.”

 

Except that she doesn’t immediately respond. It’s only when the Archon leans over to whisper something to her that she speaks, her voice so hushed that it’s exceedingly difficult for people to hear. “In the chest of the dragon was a heart as strong as Hephaestus’ anvil, his blood a fire that could burn away any rot. And so the dragon has always tasted the fruits of the earth first, lest it be bitter with poison and taint. This he taught to his sons who became Patrons to the daughters of Despoina.”

 

The priest holds her gaze for a moment, bows low, and then offers the cup to the Archon who takes the chalice in one hand, sips it and then waits. In the ensuing silence, Stathis shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another until the Archon hands back the chalice. This time, when it’s offered the goddess accepts it. Two priestesses come to her side, lifting her veil so that she can drink it easily without anyone being able to see her face. Once she hands it back, the priest brings it so that Viatorus and then Runa can sip from it in turn.

 

He hands the chalice back, and his priestesses move without prompting. One takes a bowl and olive branch and stands at his side, while another holds a towel and stands at the other.  The priest stands in front of Viatorus, takes the small branch, dips it in the oil and marks his forehead and lips. “Viatorus Atlas Durant, we ask Zeus Teleus and Odin Aldaföðr to offer you their strength and wisdom in the days ahead, to bestow upon you all the gifts that will serve you as a husband, and as the protector and guide of your new family.” He steps in front of Runa, dipping the olive branch and marking her forehead and lips through the veil. “Ingirun Solveig Nyström, we ask Hera Teléia and Frigg, mother of the gods to offer you their patience and their protection as you begin your new life as a devoted wife.”

 

Setting the olive branch into the bowl, the priest cleans his hands on the towel and the priestesses step aside to put everything away. He gestures to Harrowheart who moves with all the care and purpose of a man who’s been running through this moment in his head a thousand times over. Very carefully, he takes out the rings and holds them out in his palm. Viatorus takes the gold ring, diamonds surrounding a polished opal, and holds Runa’s hand in his. 

 

“I, Viatorus Atlas Durant, descended of the great dragon, blessed by the goddess, gifted by the esteemed Morpheus, take you Ingirun Solveig Nyström to be my wedded wife. Our fates, good and bad, woven together from now until the end of time.” As he speaks those words and slips the ring onto her slight finger his eyebrows tilt upwards. There’s no doubt that he means what he says.

 

Runa takes the thicker band of gold with a branchlike etching and slowly places it on Viatorus’ ring finger. “I, Ingirun Solveig Nyström, völva of Freyja, young of blood but wizened of heart, take you Viatorus Atlas Durant to be my wedded husband. Our fates, good and bad, woven together from now until the end of time.”

 

One of the priestesses hands the priest a blue, green and purple rope, and he begins to wrap their hands together thoroughly. Though he speaks in Ancient Greek, the translation stones allow all to understand him as he says, “Bound together in fate and spirit, your burdens and your triumphs as one. Hand in hand as you walk through life together. Great Hera, mighty Frigg, seal this union of sacred matrimony. Craft it in the image of faithfulness, abundance and safety that you uphold, great mothers and wives of the divine. Let this be a marriage that pleases you. Beautiful Aphrodite, gift this couple with lives full of love so that they may fill their home with children. Mysterious Hekate, may you be there for them at the crossroads of their lives, so you may guide them through their most difficult times.”

 

He folds the binding one last time before lifting his head to look at Viatorus and then Runa. “Repeat after me: From this day until my last, I give you my body, my mind and my soul.”

 

The young couple shift on the spot, slowly looking to each other and exchanging meek smiles before speaking in unison. “ From this day until my last, I give you my body, my mind and my soul.”

 

Once the words are said, the priest continues, “What is mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. Be it triumph or torment, riches or rags.”

 

Dutifully they echo, “What is mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. Be it triumph or torment, riches or rags.”

 

“Ingirun.” The priest singles out the Swede. “Repeat after me: I promise to protect you and our children from all harm. I promise to support and care for you, to be loving and faithful. I promise to share your duties and bear your burdens. I am your eyes, I am your hands, your watcher and your protector. I am your patron, and wife.”

 

Runa’s gaze doesn’t wander from Viatorus’ face and she speaks confidently, a strength lifting her voice. “Viatorus Atlas Durant, I promise to protect you and our children from all harm. I promise to support and care for you, to be loving and faithful. I promise to share your duties and bear your burdens. I am your eyes, I am your hands, your watcher and your protector.” Even through her veil, the bright white smile that appears is clear to see. “Your very own shieldmaiden… I am your Patron, and wife.”

 

Unconcerned by the minor deviation, the priest turns to Viatorus. “Repeat after me: I promise to devote myself to my duties and my family. I promise to uphold the mysteries of the gods and nurture the strength of the dragon in myself and our children. I promise you a legacy that will never die. I am your voice, I am your spirit, your wisdom and your guide. I am your Scholar, and husband.”

 

It takes Viatorus a moment to wrestle with the smile Runa’s playfulness drew out, and then with his nerves. He starts off quietly, but projects more when the priest tilts his head pointedly. “Ingirun Solveig Nyström, I promise to devote myself to my duties and my family. I promise to uphold the mysteries of the gods and nurture the strength of the dragon in myself and our children. I promise you a legacy that will never die. I am your voice, I am your spirit, your wisdom and your guide. I am your Scholar, and… husband.”

 

The priest raises his voice so suddenly both Viatorus and Runa jump slightly. “With the blessings of the gods and your ancestors, and of the two families brought together by this union: I pronounce you husband and wife!”

 

For the first time since the ceremony began, the crowd erupts into applause which continues as the couple have their hands unbound, and surges again as Viatorus lifts Runa’s veil and gives her a gentle kiss on the lips. They turn to the guests, smiling (albeit somewhat nervously). A couple of Runa’s brothers-in-law are a little louder than the rest, and Runa’s oldest sister pats her teary eyed father on the shoulder. The clapping goes on for a bit, somewhat muffling the music as it starts up again, but continues as Viatorus and Runa walk hand in hand back down the aisle, bridesmaids and best man (once he's taken up his runeblade again) in tow. It gets louder again when the Archon and Despoina stand, prompting guests to rise to their feet too, and make their way to leave, the priest close behind them. This time the priestesses seem to dance with reckless abandon, showering them both with petals.

 

Once they’re gone the guests are left alone with the music and an empty gazebo. With no one left to cheer, things quieten down. Although the location and time of the dinner is revealed, with time to spare there’s no rush. People mill about. Servants guide uncertain guests to anywhere they might like, even if that’s just somewhere quiet to stay while the dinner is prepared. For their part, Runa’s friends and family seem the most boisterous, introducing themselves and chatting with everyone they catch the eye of. It seems as though the entire estate is open to the guests, and more than a few are staying at the residence itself, it seems. For those who explore too much, however, there are servants standing in corridors, waiting to redirect a meandering guest or two. Typically they appear in corridors up the stairs, or in areas too far away from the hub of activity. There are also smartly dressed men and women with the telltale earpieces of security floating about. For the most part, they hover at the edges, or with servants, but there are one or two who make sure to keep an eye on a couple of the guests. 

The Dinner

 

Eventually everyone is ushered into the dining hall which, as it turns out, involves directing everyone downwards. They won’t be eating in the long banquet hall that people have been mulling around in. Guests are guided down a few wide stairs where the painted and plastered walls are replaced with polished stone. They are brought to a set of grand double doors, only one of which is open. The queue moves slowly but steadily, a gentle stream of pleasant banter and servants ensuring everyone is catered to. Once guests reach the door a servant bids them to wait their turn. From here they can see the cavernous room, supported by arches, that looks like another world entirely. Beads stream from the ceiling like rain, or falling stars, and although there is no obvious light source, the whole room is bathed in the glow of a warm sunset. Tables stretch out in long rows, small trees dotted along them, their branches holding glass orbs with flickering flames of different colours for each table. A careful, elegant arrangement of flowers, candles, glasses, plates and cutlery spread out on each table. 

 

More prominent than all of this is the top of the room where the floor rises ever so slightly and the Archon and goddess sit on tall chairs not unlike those at the gazebo. A large tree stands behind them, silhouetted against the cold stone walls. Either side of them stand priestesses, watching the guests with distant, impassive faces. More security linger nearby, actively scanning the faces of guests and servants, occasionally eyeing the priestesses themselves. The servants give them a wide berth as they guide people to the priest who prompts them as they pay their respects to the Archon and the goddess, and then allow them to continue on to congratulate Viatorus and Runa who stand to one side, backed by the best man and bridesmaids. Between the giddy Swedes, the cheerful draugr and the astute Isidor, the couple seem upbeat the entire time while also remembering every guest’s name, title and connection. After getting their chance to talk to the couple, guests are guided to their seats which can be easily identified by the names written on the waiting plates. 

 

While the line moves along, there is a brief pause as Oraskis gets caught up chattering away happily to the goddess before getting hurried along by the priestesses. Only to get caught up reciting an anecdote to Viatorus and Runa instead. Harrowheart and the bridesmaids find it somewhat more difficult to usher him along. Despite the occasional hold up, the queue progresses steadily and everyone is in good spirits… Until the line is nearly complete and a man a little older than the Archon brings a figure in a wheelchair up to the Archon and the goddess. It’s only the figure’s suit and distinctive purple sash that give away that it is, in fact, a man and an Accomplished Scholar of the Durant family. Those who can see him clearly visibly flinch at the sight of his warped skin and disfigured face. A hush descends upon the hall as the man pushing him along wears a red sash and tries to bring him close, but the scholar makes him stop. The wheelchair shakes with the effort of him getting to his feet, but no one moves to help him except his brother whom he shoos away. Viatorus’ pained expression twists with each shaking step the man takes towards the thrones. Whispers flit past during those excruciatingly long minutes: “Who’s that?… Ödön’s son… Shameful… He brought it on himself… Shameful.” Finally, he reaches the Archon and falls to one knee with a thud that makes several people flinch. With shaking fingers, he takes the Archon’s hand and kisses his ring. The Archon stares down at him without so much as a blink. It takes him longer again to get up from the ground, but once he does he moves over to the goddess, says his words so quietly that no one but those closest can hear, and then collapses into his wheelchair. There he waits until his patron is done in paying his own respects. They move to congratulate the couple, with Viatorus looking ill and Runa clearly confused. When the scholar tries to stand and repeat the process Viatorus jumps into trying to get him to stay seated. Either he stubbornly refuses to listen or doesn’t understand, and tries to get up despite reassurances from both Viatorus and Runa. It’s only when Viatorus goes to put a hand on his shoulder and yelps before even touching him, that the dreamwalker turns to his own patron with pleading eyes. Isidor, who has watched all this with a set jaw, swoops in to whisper something into the man’s ear. Whatever she says calms him, and he mutters his congratulations before moving along.

 

With the last of the guests spoken to the wedding party seat themselves at the table at the top of the room in front of the thrones. Priestesses and servants set up a table for the Archon and the goddess, complete with fruit centrepiece, in an elegant and efficient dance. As soon as everyone is seated and has a drink on hand, the appetisers begin to appear. Plates of ratatouille or potatoes with roe appear, stirring debate in some and a warm familiarity with others. The neat little portions don’t take long to consume, however, and once every plate is finished with they’re soon replaced by bowls of French onion soup and fresh bread. It’s only once these plates are cleared away and everyone is starting to feel the weight of the bread that a servant asks for everyone’s attention for the speeches.

 

Runa, thanking the servant, stands from her seat. For such a small, friendly young woman she certainly can project her voice well. “Thank you, everyone, for being here today. It means more than Viatorus and I could ever express to see you all gathered here today to share this moment with us.” Turning, she smiles up at the goddess watching through her veil. “We are blessed to be in your presence today, Despoina. Thank you so much for lending us your wisdom and guidance today. And to the Archon, thank you for providing us with this magnificent venue and your protection, and for being here today.” She turns that bright white smile back to the rest of the room. “It brings such warmth and joy to my heart to see everyone in this room. People are who they surround themselves with. Our friends and family are a reflection of who we are, of who we aspire to be, and who we could become. In this room I see not only a goddess, but dragons, knights, ambassadors, peacekeepers, healers, teachers… People I admire in so many ways, and people I cannot wait to know better and admire more.”

 

“I asked Viatorus if I could make this speech, because I have so much to say, so many people to thank and so much to be grateful for.” Her smile softens as she looks at Viatorus and then back to her guests. “My mother passed away when I was young, and although I wish she was here today I know that she would be smiling. When I met Viatorus I was putting my trust in my father, and in my mother’s guidance, and I’m so glad I did. My mother always spoke highly of humility, and Viatorus is certainly humble. It is a humility that hides an understated power and a quiet courage. Finding Viatorus was like finding a pearl at the bottom of the ocean.” When she pauses to glance at a red faced Viatorus she laughs and puts a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, I won’t embarrass you any more!” That laughing smile returns to the guests. “The Durant family has been so welcoming and so patient with me. Thank you, all of you, for all your help and kindness. I must thank Viatorus’ friends as well, who were warm and accepting from the very start. And my friends, who have always supported and encouraged me. But, perhaps most of all, I want to thank my sisters, my brothers, and my father.” She turns to look around her, stopping to smile at her watery eyed father. “You have always been there for me, you have always done your best for me. I couldn’t have asked for a better, more loving family. Thank you so much.”

 

Her eyes are glistening when she looks up again. “I hope you’re all having a good time, drinking plenty of wine and enjoying the food. There are only a few speeches, I promise. So for now I pass you to our dear friend, and the best man, Harrowheart.”

 

“Thank you. Mrs. Durant,” Harrowheart says with a laugh that turns his soft smile into a wide grin. “Tough act to follow! Good thing a very wise patron give me a little guidance.” He produces from his breast pocket a few small note cards which he raises up, laughing as he shows them off. 

 

Harrowheart glances at what’s written on them, then at the crowd. He stands in silence, shuffling uncomfortably, and all the while the lights of his eyes flit between his cards and the people before him.  A draugr is not meant to give a speech at a wedding. 

 

“Viatorus is…” he begins to stiffly read. He looks around for Isidor, and when he finds her face he stares at her, his face completely blank. A blue light blinks from the eyes of the sword on his back, and with that unspoken prompting Harrowheart stows his cards into his pocket once again. He turns to face the crowd, nods once, and begins to speak. 

 

“My best friend. I would say that bein’ so close to him makes me the luckiest man alive, but,” he starts to laugh and shake his head. His smile returns when he lays eyes on the newlyweds. “Viatorus taught me so many things I’d forgot. How important it is to keep learnin’ new things… How to care about folks who aren’t like ourselves… What life is worth… What dreams are worth. Lessons only Viatorus Atlas Durant coulda taught. He’s got a real unique soul like I ain’t ever seen before, full of love and light and a passion for goodness. I’d be a crueler sorta creature if I hadn’t ever met him. And you know what?” His eyes scan the crowd, and with a final nod he decides, “I think that’s true for everyone who knows him.”

 

“He’s a rare kinda gift the universe gave us, and I don’t think there’s another out there quite like him…” But Harrowheart is smiling again as he once again sets his sights on the couple. “Except Runa. I can’t name a couple more meant to be together than those two. They deserve each other in the best sorta way.”

 

He gestures with an open palm towards the two of them, then brings his hand to his pallid cheek. “You two! You got no idea how proud I am to be here tonight. I can’t wait to watch the two of you grow up and grow old together.”

 

Harrowheart starts to laugh quietly, and the hand at his cheek scrubs at one of his eyes. He looks one last time toward Isidor and says, “See? I told you I could do it without makin’ a joke at Poenia’s expense. Now how ‘bout we get a real speaker up here, huh? Mister Nyström? What do ya say?”

 

Runa’s father smiles at the death knight’s introduction. “Thank you, Harrowheart.” Arvid looks like a man who had been struggling with tears all afternoon when he stands, shuffling through the cards in his hands. “My dear wife’s favourite proverb was ‘A life without love is like a year without summer’. She loved love, and she loved summer, and she loved her family most of all.” When he turns to Runa his smiling cheeks threaten to make his watery eyes overflow. “If she were here today I know that she would be so proud, and so happy for you, Runa. This might not have been how any of us imagined this day, but just looking at you both, it’s clear to everyone that when you are together there is a warmth and love around you. This is the start of a great adventure, and I know it will be a happy one for both of you.” He blinks a few times and then turns to allow him to see the Archon. “When I first met the Archon and his wife it was obvious our families were very different, but that’s what makes the union of our two families so wonderful. I must thank them for how welcoming and kind they have been. I truly believe that Viatorus and Runa, and their children, will enjoy the best traits from our two families.” He turns back to the newlyweds. “Runa, I want you to know how proud I am of you. How proud we all are. And even though you’ll have a home of your own, remember that you will always be welcome home in Sweden too. Viatorus, I am certain you’ll make sure my dear daughter is happy, and I know you’ll make a good husband. But if you ever need advice, know that as your new second father, you can always come to talk to me. Welcome to the family.”

 

Clearing his throat, he turns to smile at the guests. “Now, if I could all persuade you to join me in a toast.” He fumbles to get his glass in one hand and raise it. “A toast! To a life full of love!” The hall echoes the toast and, after taking a sip, Arvid sets down his glass. “Thank you for being so patient with me, everyone. I believe Stathis has a few words for us next.”

 

“Thank you, Arvid,” Stathis says with his usual gruffness as he stands and looks around the hall, waiting until Arvid is seated before he continues. “Those of you who know me know I’m not one to go on too much. I like things simple, and to the point. At this stage in my life I’m not about to change, so I’ll be quick. As Runa, Arvid and Harrowheart have said, we’re all glad to see our friends and family gathered around today. We’re grateful to our gods, and to our ancestors, and mindful of those who couldn’t be with us on this happy occasion.” He turns to Viatorus and Runa. “But this is your day, and your father asked me to impart some words of wisdom on his behalf. As a newly engaged man, I’m not married yet, but I have had the honour of seeing your mother and your father meet, marry and raise a fine family. With this in mind, let me share what has proven to be the most important lessons of a strong marriage. Firstly, be a team. Life is a series of problems to be solved, and it’s easier with two heads instead of one. Scholarship is a lifetime dedication, and you’ll need each other’s support. In this regard you’ve got it easy, from what I’ve seen of Runa, going above and beyond is in her nature.” He waits until Runa has had a moment to smile and blush before continuing. “Secondly, listen to each other. The beauty of having a partner you trust is that you also have a trusted outside perspective to your troubles. You both have wisdom, and you can only be better for combining it. And thirdly, take this time to become the best versions of yourselves. Foster your strengths, help each other work on your weaknesses. You need two wings to fly, after all.”

 

Clearing his throat, he turns back to the hall. “Without further ado, let me conclude the speeches with a final toast.” Taking his drink in one hand, he lifts it up. “If you would all raise your glasses to the married couple. May you have a long, happy, and prosperous marriage.” The hall gives a muffled echo of agreement. “Now! Let us get back to eating and drinking, and enjoying this evening.”

 

Almost as if waiting for the instruction, the servants begin moving again, delivering the main course to the newlywed’s table first. Plates of beautifully presented partridge and figs, or stuffed salmon with cranberries and brie are set in front of each of the guests, and servants offer to dish out sides diligently throughout the course. No one will be left hungry, that’s for sure. The main is followed by a mint sorbet palate cleanser which gives people some time to digest their meal before the final course. After being given plenty of time to chat and digest, a trio of desserts is given to each of the guests. Everyone finds themselves with a small chocolate parfait, a miniature Eton mess, and some small saffron pancakes. For each person who ends up trading some part of their meal there is at least two more shaking their heads disapprovingly. All is forgotten, however, once the teas and coffees appear, signalling the end of the meal. More than a few guests opt for something stronger than coffee or wine, and everyone is content to relax after the hefty dinner. Eventually people are invited to gather outside in the gardens where a couple put on a performance with water magic while some of the children run about with sparklers. It’s pleasantly cool outside and there is plenty of seating and even more drink on hand. 

The Evening

 

When everyone returns the Archon and Despoina remain in place but the tables have been removed, replaced instead by circular tables to one side of the room. Shadows dance along the walls in the shapes of twirling couples, fairies or strange beasts, and the lights in the trees are all a warm orange now. On the other side a stage has been set up for a band who is tuning their instruments. Between both sides is a large dance floor with plenty of room for all of the guests, but once everyone has filtered back in the dance floor becomes a temporary stage as people gather around and watch Runa and Viatorus cut the wedding cake hand in hand. Even once it’s moved to one side, people are still filtering back into the hall. By the time everyone has congregated in the hall once more there has been plenty of time to seek out familiar faces, a breath of fresh air, or yet another glass of wine. With a few polite and hushed words, servants and bridesmaids encourage people to take a seat and clear the dance floor in a slow relocation.

 

“If I could ask for everyone’s attention for one moment.” Stathis’s voice, much like his brother’s, doesn’t cut through the crowd very well. It’s only through sheer timing and the eagerness of others to pay attention to what the Archon’s Patron is saying that he gets people to quiet. When he only has hushed murmurs to compete with, he continues. “I trust that you are all comfortably fed, and all have a glass in your hands. Tonight will be filled with entertainment, music and dancing. It’s our duty, and pleasure, to make this a memorable night for all involved. But first let us start by welcoming Viatorus and Runa as they take to the floor for their first dance as husband and wife!”

 

He stands aside, starting the clapping as he does. A few of the Scandinavians whistle and more than a few people cheer. It’s certainly a warm introduction, but as the couple walk to the centre of the dance floor Viatorus looks a little queasy when his eyes dart to the many eyes on them. Runa, all smiles, takes his hands and whispers a few words to him which he nods to. He takes a deep breath and then nods to the waiting musicians. The first notes of music play and both take up their positions. Straight backed and stiff armed as they are, they look uncomfortably rigid for the second that they stand there. The moment that they move, however, all of that fades away. Whatever awkwardness the scholar is prone to, there’s no sign of it here. He’s light on his feet, agile and with a strong posture he looks unusually graceful. In his arms Runa isn’t elegant in quite the same way, but she is happy. Following him, which she does well, is a joy and she revels in every spin and twirl. Together they glide as if they’d been doing this all their lives. He doesn’t shy away from holding her close with firm hands, and once they’re well into the dance Viatorus finds himself smiling back at her when they look into each other’s eyes. For something he so clearly dreaded when they started it’s over too soon by the end… They spin to a stop, into a round of applause. What a successful entrance into the world of matrimonial bliss.

 

The next song is decidedly less classical, but it gives the couple a chance to breathe while they dance to a slower song. It’s a smooth transition with a pause only for the applause, but Isidor is sharp on the mark. She takes Harrowheart’s hand and brings him into the dancefloor, making sure they’re properly set up before leading them in the dance. True, there are a few unhappy mumblings in the background, but Runa’s sisters are as quick to join Isidor in grabbing their own dance. It does the trick, as it’s meant to, in encouraging people to have their own dance. As Stathis said, it starts off the night’s festivities with a pleasant tune. Throughout the night there will be a variety of music as vast as the sea. Runa’s influence, by the sounds of things. Everything from retro love songs to Euro pop, electronic music and even, in the later hours of the night, heavy metal (which makes for the rather unusual sight of a headbanging bride). Occasionally the band (and later the DJ) takes a break and a performer fills the temporary gap. At one of the quieter moments in the evening Runa's sisters gather to sing a few songs in their native language. Carita sings a sweet, if haunting song, that few people dare talk through, before she joins her sisters in a happier melody. Several illusionists put on magnificent spectacles, reenacting ancient stories or dancing with lights that look like will-o-wisps, and one man performs amusing little tricks with an unusual and beautifully exotic bird… which later transforms into a woman. And of course, there is food served much later to coincide with people’s appetites resurfacing.

 

For those lingering along the sidelines there is plenty of people watching to do. Durant events are perfect for looking out for unusual characters. There is a general trend of purple sashes marking the more eccentric Durants with more haggard looking red sashes follow them. Harith Nur is flanked by two brothers, and though they share similar features they could not act more different. The youngest talks quickly and dramatically, Harith Nur always speaks with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and his oldest brother stands tall and thoughtful the entire night. There is a slender woman who seems to glow, her purple sash contrasting beautifully with her golden dress. She lingers around the largest groups, followed by a rotund woman with the contrasting red sash. Poenia moves through the crowd like a shark through the sea, her weary brother close behind. When he isn’t dancing with pretty Scandinavian girls, Oraskis spends most of his evening talking to another woman with a purple sash who seems a little older than him with white hair and a very bohemian style, and Runa’s sister Luna, the three of them deep in conversation almost constantly. At one point Runa’s brother-in-law, Fritjof, trots up to Despoina and does a trick for her that involves a tankard and a coin. Whatever it is she says to him it isn’t what he was hoping for and he allows himself to get shooed away by the priestesses a little red cheeked. His fellow in-law Nyströms are waiting to tease him about it when he returns. It turns out that all of Runa’s brothers-in-law get along well with Viatorus’ uncles, especially Lieselotte’s brothers. The Germans and the Swedes talk loudly, laugh louder, and make more than a few wagers, challenging more than a few people to games of wit, or simply drinking contests. Lieselotte moves almost constantly, playing the part of a good hostess, while Stathis spends a lot of time with a man who looks Italian (judging by his tan and how much he gestures). A Durant scholar with similar features to the priestesses and her husband talk to two tall, pale men with scholar and patron sashes who eye the hall uncomfortably. The man in the wheelchair and his brother look almost forgotten in the farthest corner of the room, tucked away between a servant and a security guard, but no one makes any attempt to go near them. Not too far away is a whole group of older men and women sitting like a collage of purple and red sashes dotted with white hair and sprinkled with pins of all shapes. A pale woman with Asian features and a purple sash glistening with pins across her Victorian-esque dress moves regularly, doing her best to avoid the men who gather where ever she lingers too long. The priest talks freely with people, but always stays close to the stage where Despoina and the Archon sit. Viatorus and Runa do their best to talk to everyone, but Runa also seems to have made it her personal mission to dance during every song. They may be married now, but Viatorus doesn’t have the energy to keep up with his new bride. He is far more content to watch, talk to his friends, and only join in when he’s dragged in. A few of Runa’s brothers also seem to have made it their personal challenge to try and get their new brother as drunk as they can. Try as she might, Isidor can only be in one place at a time, so while she ensures no fights break out between conflicting personalities, she entrusts Viatorus’ sobriety to Harrowheart.

 

Midnight strikes and although the party is in full swing, everyone pauses and the music stops when Despoina rises. She exchanges a few words with the Archon who takes a step back and bows low. As she descends and heads to the door with her train of priestesses, people bow and wish her well, a few slurred voices even sing goodbye. The priest follows her, but the Archon is free to step into the crowd and reunite with his brother. Free from the watchful gaze of the goddess, Durant traditions relinquish the party into the wild revelry of the Swedes. 

It is only in the early hours of the morning that the giddy screeching of Runa's sisters clusters as they, along with Isidor, escort (or rather drag) Viatorus and Runa out the doors. The next time any of them will be seen is as a few of the Swedes are brought to their beds, with more than one slung over their husband's shoulder. 

 

✾ ※ ✾

((OOC Notes: 
For Dinner - Nexus folks will have been grouped together. The Alters will be over with Oraskis and some of V's maternal uncles. The head table will include Viatorus, Runa, Harrowheart, Isidor, Arvid, Lieselotte and Stathis.

General - Threadjacking, hopping around threads, and requesting threads with different characters is all good and encouraged. Although I brought the post up to the evening's activities, threads can be set at any point during the event (so long as it didn't majorly disrupt the ceremony) to allow for pre-ceremony/dinner conversations etc. If anything is confusing or you would like to discuss threads/the post just shoot me a message!))

Comments

Harrowheart

[westfallcorndog]

The Ceremony

Being the best man is a particular sort of honor that comes with pride and worry in equal measures. There are so many moments in this (quite literally) magical day that Harrowheart has been coached and primed for, and the motivation to execute them all correctly is as much duty as fear. At the start, anyway.

When the bride and groom appear, and the draugr with them, all worries disappear. Viatorus and Runa go hand in hand before him. At his side, Isidor. He does well to keep his eyes on the pair ahead of him, but every few seconds his attention drifts to Isidor, whom he watches with quiet contemplation – and, just once, the barest hint of a smile.

The exchanging of vows begins, and Harrowheart is glad for his obligation as the ring bearer, because if his hands (and thoughts) weren’t half-full his emotions would be all too obvious. As it is he has to fight away a silent laugh and faint smile at Runa’s shieldmaiden improv.

Soon each of them speaks the words the whole congregation came to hear: They are each other’s, man and woman. Harrowheart blinks hard to keep from wiping at his eyes with everyone watching. He casts his eyes down as the priest proclaims them husband and wife, but when he finds himself looking at Isidor’s shoes he drags his attention back up to the pair and the crowd despite the gleam on his cheeks.

The kiss brings much-needed levity, and not for the last time that night Harrowheart finds himself laughing. It’s hard not to laugh at a kiss knowing Viatorus is one half of it. And just like that he and the procession are swept up in leaving, gone back to where they’d come.

The Dinner

The Dinner is next to come, but first comes the daunting prospect of the Durants’ most dire instructions of the night: Pay respects to the Archon, and, more worryingly... The Mistress. Once again Harrowheart is glad for his duties, as ushering and organizing the guests into a single, coordinated line proves to be more of an effort than previously expected. He might even have said ‘Thank the Light’ for it, until, as the Light would have it, he meets the Alters near the end of the line. The Azerothians, together for the first time that evening, exchange worried gossip at length, and none but Lord Alter do well enough to hide the fearful glances they steal at the woman infused with the soul of the Durants’ ultimate patron.

The passage of time is inevitable, however, and eventually the line has dwindled to nothing. The moment has come at last for those least willing to pay their dues to rise to the occasion. Elsewhere, a twisted, misfortunate soul and his patron await Harrowheart and the Alters’ approach. Lord Alter whispers something to Zandros, who in turn shares his hushed thoughts with the death knight, whose unblinking stare is fixated on the goddess on her throne. Finally he tears his eyes away, and with a tight-lipped half nod mutters some final declaration. With those words said he leaves his sword once more with Oraskis and approaches the thrones with the raised chin and determined stare of a condemned man facing the gallows.

He does as he was instructed but quickly discovers that actions come more easily than words. Harrowheart approaches, stops, kneels, and stumbles falteringly through the prepared thanks. In the distance the Alters, standing especially close to each other, watch with wide and worried eyes... Until the dead man is not struck down with a clap of thunder. They watch as Harrowheart moves on to the Archon, who, in the grand scheme of things, now seems so much simpler to approach. Having practiced and failed with his lines on Despoina Herself makes it somehow easier to try again and succeed with the Archon.

Neither of them have to worry about Harrowheart raising his head too early as he backs away – as much as possible he avoids looking in the direction of the thrones for the remainder of the evening.

The Evening

The Evening! Thank all present goddesses for the evening! The food was as good as any food to a half-tasting dead tongue (but better, of course, than curry), and the magical display in the interim was thoroughly entertaining, but the moment Harrowheart most expects is upon them soon and his heart is filled to bursting at the notion of it. This, as much as any other aspect of the evening... This is what he has been waiting for.

Runa and Viatorus show everyone how it ought to go first. A couple, a pair of young friends, their bodies close together, make their way across the floor as one. How sweet to watch, and how surprising too; how unexpected it is to see Viatorus so confident in holding her tightly, in guiding her along, in perfectly playing the part of the enthralled lover. Perhaps not playing at all.

But their song ends, and in a heartbeat his own hand is taken up in Isidor’s. What a natural feeling! Other eyes that may be watching fade away like stars behind clouds, while Harrowheart’s stay only on the bright moon of his partner’s lovely face.

As the night progresses Harrowheart is finally free to drink, to dance, to speak unscripted lines, and to usher nobody anywhere... Unless that nobody is a drink poured before Viatorus, its final destination Harrowheart’s stomach.

Harrow and Isidor Dance (Log from Discord)

[westfallcorndog]

Isidor
Viatorus and Runa’s successful first dance deserves the applause that follows, but while others clap Isidor is already weaving through the crowd to prepare for the next song. She knows the plans better than anyone else so she still has time while the band prepares when she finds Harrowheart. Grabbing his hand, she smiles. “Ready?”

Harrowheart
Harrowheart feigns surprise with a hand on his chest and a hard blink, but he won't delay a second longer than that. With a laugh he gladly rises, his hand in hers, and hurries to the dance floor with Isidor.

He's practiced for this moment with Isidor and alone in the privacy of his own home, and now he gets to live it. Dancing together with the woman he isn't even allowed to touch in public. One of his hands remains in hers, while the other... He's not sure what to do with it honestly. It hovers an inch above her lower back, uncertain as to whether or not he ought to be so bold as to rest it there.

Just as it always is when they practice he waits for her to take the lead. The pace is slow enough that he doesn't struggle to keep up, which is a mercy given how much is distracting him right now: chief among those things Isidor's face.

"Everyone's watchin' us," he says without turning his attention away to those hundred-odd everyones. "How's that make you feel?"

Isidor
It must look quite a sight to everyone, Isidor marching a death knight onto the dancefloor. In this regard her reputation for taking charge and following tradition works in her favour, making it only proper that she takes his hand firmly and quietly tells him to put his hand on her back. That is, after all, what correct posture involves. All the instructions give her something to focus on, and then leading them in the dance while trying to make it look like he’s leading…

She’s so distracted by making sure they dance around the others on the floor that she almost doesn’t hear Harrowheart at first. It takes a second for the question to sink in and another for her to look at him. That’s the first time their eyes meet and it feels as though her whole body shuts down and reanimates again. Up until that very moment she hadn’t realised how close they are. Has Harrowheart always been this tall? Have his shoulders always been this broad? Did she notice these things when they were practising? She can’t remember.

“I’ve been watched all my life,” she says once her head has cleared a little. “I don’t feel watched anymore.”

That’s not exactly what he means and she knows it. So, fighting with a smile, her eyes slide from him to the crowd and back again. “Having your eyes on me, on the other hand… That’s… a feeling.”

Harrowheart
He's lucky to have practiced so much, because otherwise he'd have surely stumbled in his slow steps at what she says.

"I've been watchin' you all night," he admits. The darkening of his cheeks comes a few delayed seconds later. "I know it's selfish of me, but I couldn't stop pretendin' that this was our evening. I've never dreamed of gettin' married before, but now?..."

He smiles as he looks away, but soon his blue eyes shift back to her face with a spark of mischief. Harrowheart leans in and whispers in her ear, "Do you wanna pretend this is our wedding, too? And later, when the party's over... That it's our wedding night?"

Isidor
Pretending that this was their wedding? And here she had been spending the entire time imagining a life where she’d never have to marry. Harrowheart’s dream is so much nicer, though, so she decides not to mention her own thoughts. She looks around and tries to reimagine it. Less sparkling, fewer trees. More torches and… more hay bales. As long as they didn’t have it in a barn. She tries not to laugh at the image of the Archon or her mother sitting on a hay bale for a wedding ceremony.

She very almost freezes on the spot when Harrowheart’s cold breath whispers that suggestion into her ear. Cheeks beginning to burn, her head snaps to look at him. “I…” She hesitates and then looks back to the dance floor to help her focus on their steps. “I can’t. We can’t. Not tonight. You have to make sure Viatorus has a good time. And I have to…” She wrinkles up her nose and huffs a sigh. “I’m going to have to stay up all night for a much less fun reason.”

Harrowheart
Harrowheart expected two things with his suggestion: A flustered look, and a rejection. Only one of those things disappoints him, but not enough to sully his mood. Her surprise and scandal, her red cheeks, bring an easy smile to Harrow's face. He hides it by her ear and laughs for her only to hear. "Stay up all night, huh? Who put an idea like that in your head?"

"Listen. I'll make sure Viatorus has a good time. When the right song comes on I'm gonna put him in his seat and lift him up and parade him all around."

He stands straight for a moment, smiling at her as they make their way around the room, carefully stepping where she leads him. Then he leans in again and whispers in her other ear, "I'm gonna make sure he has two glasses of wine and no more. I'm gonna be sure he dances with at least one old lady, and Oraskis, and that Oraskis tells him a good joke or two. Runa and I might play a couple'a harmless tricks on him, and he might get a handful of cake in his face, if the timin's funny."

Once more looking her in the face as they turn and step he confidently declares, "I'm the best man, Isidor. I'm gonna make sure he has a good time. But sooner or later that good time ends with him in one place. And when them bedroom doors close our jobs as best man and maid of honor are over."

Isidor
The way he half-denies suggestion what he suggested so plainly gets her to roll her eyes, but she’s smiling. Only a little. They wouldn’t want anyone to think they were enjoying this dance too much. She readjusts the hand holding his while he assures her he’ll do his part to make the evening a good one. As much as she likes being close to him, his hand is cold and shifting her hand a little is all she can do to keep it from freezing stiff in one place.

“Your job will be over,” she corrects and looks him in the eye with a wry smile. “Mine won’t.”

Inhaling deeply, she looks around as she explains, “It’s tradition that when the bride and groom go off for the night, the bride’s sisters follow and stay outside their door to sing for their sister. To give her courage, supposedly. To make sure they consummate the marriage, too.” With a self pitying sigh, she looks back to Harrowheart. “And I have to stay even after that. All night. To make sure no one thinks this is a good time to assassinate my dear brother.”

Harrowheart
Oh, that sly look! At her rebuttal Harrowheart returns his best impression of her smile as he waits to hear the thrilling twist she has in store.

And when it comes he can't help laughing! "A big ol' gaggle of Nystrom girls!" he muses aloud, beaming brightly. "All piled up on top of each other, leanin' against a door and singin' while she's on the other side! And you! Standin' there with your arms crossed and your face all..."

He blanks his face and tries for a brow arch that doesn't quite come. He's got to let go of her hand for a second to push up one of his eyebrows while he lowers the other. He loses track of his footing and stumbles to catch up to the music and his partner once more.

"Pooooor ol' long-sufferin' Isidor! Stayin' up all night defendin' her Dear Brother from all them assassins!" He stifles his laughter and fights a tugging smile. He takes her hand in his once more and picks up the pace of their dance with a renewed vigor. The song is soon to end, and he's got to make the most of it.

"Isidor," he starts in a secretive hush even as he moves with the vibrance of a man inspired to shout from the rooftops. "How can you turn me down and lift me up all at the same time? You make me feel... Ahh, I think you said it best... A feelin'."

He turns his head to hide his face from her scorn, and only when he's sure he's going to come in at the tail end of a Look do the lights of his eyes peek her way.

"If you got patronly duties tonight, then lemme make two requests: The first is that once the Nystrom gals are gone, I get to join ya. We'll spend the night together one way or another. The second... Or maybe technically the first... Is that when this song is over you let me spin you."

Isidor
For the first time since they started dancing, Isidor looks around and catches a few people staring while Harrowheart adjusts his face to better mimic hers. With a heavy roll of her eyes, she tugs him back into the dance a little forcefully. She’s got to look a little annoyed at that even if it does want to make her smirk. Luckily Harrowheart puts renewed enthusiasm into the dance and it can all be spun as an irritated energy rather than and excited one.

As soon as he reiterates her own words back to her, she scowls. It’s only now she’s realised that he’s going to be quoting that a long time from now. For once she almost wishes he were more scatterbrained.

His requests, on the other hand, get a thoughtful look as she weighs up her options. One request has an easy answer, the other…

“Yes.” What a relief to be able to say that to him. For once. She purses her lips to hide a smile, glancing around them before meeting his gaze again. “To both.”

Harrowheart
It would be best if Harrowheart refrained from smiling at that, but the night is young and Isidor has a way of making it impossible for him to bury his emotions. Her yes -- how often does he hear that? -- brightens his eyes in an instant. As he continues to dance with her, to make circles through the crowd with his hands and gaze on her, that eager energy slowly wanes to something softer. Contentment. Freedom. Quiet joy. A moment savored.

The oh-so-perfect sensation of a wonderfully public dance with Isidor.

Then the trumpets crescendo and he knows the time is coming. Both of his hands are at her middle when the brass is at its loudest, and just as they go silent he makes good on his promise...

Though maybe not in the way she had expected.

He lifts her so that her feet dangle and her face is on level with his own and makes two wide, sweeping strides that spin them both as they go. She's barely in the air for the span of a breath before her shoes are on the floor once more and in one fluid motion Harrowheart releases her, bowing with a flourish as his hands slip off of her.

He rises quickly, a self-satisfied smile on his face and in his eyes the tell-tale sparkle of a man looking at the woman he adores.

"Thank you," he whispers in a breath. For the dance, the laughter, the mischief... All of it.

Isidor
Isidor prepares herself for the slow, fairytale spin she’s granted Harrowheart who, when she feels his hands on her waist, seems confused by the concept. The moment her feet leave the ground her eyes light up, wide in surprise and her lips part in a soft and sudden breath. Perhaps it’s the wine, but the way he does it so effortlessly makes her realise that he really is as strong as he boasts. When he sets her down again her mouth shuts and twists so that she can give him a look that shows exactly what she thinks next: If she didn’t like him she’d be putting her hands around his neck instead of draping her arms over his shoulders. He tricked her, and that’s dangerous. That’s almost like winning.

But then he goes and thanks her and her expression relaxes. She dips into an elegant, if shallow, curtsy and smiles up at him from a bowed head. “It was my pleasure.”

The Evening

[smartass_captain]

How many drinks has Harrowheart had by now?

Jim hasn't been counting exactly, though he has been watching the deathknight from across the room for a huge chunk of the day it must be said. Things between he and Harrow have been in shambles for nearly a whole year now with things only getting worse and worse until finally Jim didn't hear anything at all for a couple of months. The only word about Harrowheart he ever heard of was implied ones from Isidor and given how tight lipped she is about everything that isn't what She wants to talk about that hasn't been much either.

Until Zandros showed up.

Having Harrow come to Jim's aid and then usher off the Paladin as though the last year hadn't happened between them was...jarring. And for once not in a bad way. He hasn't seen Harrow's brother around to ask if things have gotten better or not but Jim's old companion is here tonight looking better than ever. Dancing with Isidor even! Viatorus' best man. Captain Kirk waits for Felix to be otherwise occupied before making his way across the celebration hall with two glasses of brandy in his hands.

Champagne is the traditional drink of choice but since Jim can't have any this will have to suffice. He waits until Harrowheart notices him and offers out one of the glasses with the smallest hints of a smile on his face. How have you been, old friend?

"Looking very nice. Isidor wouldn't let you wear the 'enjoy the gun show' tanktop I take it?" A small joke, a quiet joke. It's been too long.

POENIA, I SUMMON YOU!

[westfallcorndog]

The hour is late and the drinks are drunk when Harrow, being a man of unsound mind, begins searching the crowd for Poenia, or 'Oraskis' worst child.' Once or twice his bleary eyes scan right past her, though his runeblade sees and shines brightly with recognition.

It's a frankly embarrassingly long while before he finds her and approaches with a tumbler of whiskey in each hand. He looks at Poenia, downs one drink, begins to offer her the other... Then makes direct eye contact with her as he drinks that one too.

"Poenia," he grunts. It looks like he's got more thoughts (if possible) brewing behind that, but all the alcohol is gumming up the inner workings of his mind. A few seconds of silent staring pass before he demands, "Say somethin' mean!"

Mid to late evening

[conjuredskies]

Felix knew very well he'd be here, of course. Accepted that fact long before Harrowheart emerged in the wedding procession itself and Felix found himself staring right at the death knight for a long few moments. He'd dragged his attention back to the goddess then, made sure his gaze slid right over Harrowheart from that point on. Even though it seemed as if his eyes kept being drawn back to look for those blades. To check where they were the way one checked a will o'wisp was still at a safe distance. At least, he wanted to believe that's what the impulse was...

He's steered wide of the death knight all the day since, veering off sharply whenever the crowds parted to give him a glimpse of either Harrow or the blade at his back. Every time his eyes land on that double weapon there's a cold chill - a thrill down his spine. The briefest memory of a high, dark vault above him and clammy air on his skin...

So he avoids it. But the evening wears on, and Felix gets distracted with his own pursuits, and no matter how much of his drinking is feigned the imbibing starts to tell. He isn't quite so wary, any more. Which is how, while he and Jim have split up to mingle once more, he pushes his way politely past some swaying Nystrom acquaintances and finds himself facing...

Harrowheart. Just him. Look at his face, not at the blades. Look at his face, not at the blades...

"Harrowheart." The one person in the room for whom Felix has no deceitful smile; the one person to whom he doesn't know what to say. If anything should be said. For a long, awkward moment he's left searching for any pleasantry that won't be an obvious lie or appallingly flippant. "I... uh. Hello."

The Priestesses of Despoina

[westfallcorndog]

The presence of the goddess has inspired on key emotion in the Azerothians: Fear. Terror, suspicion, and even the primal fear born of respect. But as the night grows longer and Harrowheart downs more liquid courage he finds himself -- finally -- feeling something deeper: Curiosity.

She really is a goddess. Moreover, a goddess who did not smite him. A goddess who, he realizes as the alcohol numbs his anxiety, blesses the Durants. And isn't he a friend of the Durants? Then isn't she, by some distant extension, also his friend? In spirit, if not quite literally. They are connected by the same threads of fate, of the universe, of whatever it is that makes two disparate existences come together under one roof.

Harrowheart's fear wanes, and he finds himself more often looking towards Despoina with is unblinking blue eyes. Whose face is it behind that veil? If he were to see her would he even recognize it? Is it Despoina's face, or someone else's? Is she merely possessed by a force that cannot manifest on this world?

Would Elune do such a thing? Could she? If she can, why doesn't she? Then again, why would she? Earth is a world worth visiting. Azeroth is a cursed place and her death is creeping in like a sea fog.

Not unlike the way Harrowheart, aware of it or not, has spent half an hour inching nearer, staring at the priestesses who school around the goddess like minnows. He sips away two drinks in that time, but the alcohol is more on his breath than in his words when he finally manages to come close enough to be heard by one.

"Excuse me."

He clears his throat and stands a little straighter, anxious once again and looking the part as he tightly grips an empty glass. The goddess doesn't scare him as much as conversations with strange women who might treat him exactly as he expects to be treated.

"Am I allowed to talk to y'all?"

Viatorus and the Worst Best Man

[westfallcorndog]

What a wonderful night this has been! It's long past the rituals and deep into the drinking now and Harrowheart is doing exactly as he promised: Keeping Viatorus within acceptable levels of sobriety (that's two glasses of wine! And he's had... One, right? Two? Thr... Hey, who's counting?) and playing the part of entertainer.

Harrowheart is well past his own second drink when the band starts up an energetic instrumental of accordions and violins and the dead man knows just what he has to do. From across the room he makes his way toward Viatorus, clapping rhythmically with that Old World beat that practically begs for it and grinning in a way that can only mean trouble. Whatever boring-ass conversation Viatorus is holding is cut short when Harrowheart arrives beside him and doesn't bother to pause or ask permission before scooping him right up into his arms. His head still bobs with the beat as he makes his way toward an empty chair and plants the groom right into it.

"Hold on!" and an echoing cackle are his only warnings before he bends down and picks up the chair by its two back legs. It's an inconvenient grip and so he tosses the chair (and Viatorus!) and inch or two up, then catches it by the edges of the seat to better hold it above his head.

"Now clap! A-and don't sway too much cause I'm feelin' that brandy. HEY, RUNA! WHERE YOU AT, GIRL? CLAP! Get your big ol' family in on this!"

Harrowheart's drunken legs lead them forward as he begins to parade the man of the hour around.

Adia and Caspar

[westfallcorndog]

Speeches have been given and drinks have been downed and Harrowheart has spent his free time well, wandering and meeting strangers who tolerate his presence with varying levels of interest and disgust. But now and then throughout the night he's caught sight of two faces he knows but which seem to be pointedly ignoring him. Adia and Caspar... Why haven't they approached? Why does it feel like they're always elsewhere when he drifts in their direction?

Tonight he reconnected with Jim, and even attempted the same with Felix, to mixed results. Now he's got to steel himself for a third reunion -- one he wasn't aware needed to happen.

He spots Adia in the crowd and begins to make his way toward her, distracted by nothing. He's going to say hello, and nobody is going to stop him.

[juststeverogers]

Nothing about today has made a lick of sense, but Steve Rogers wouldn't have it any other way. He's heard mention of this off and on from both Harrowheart and V but to finally be here celebrating one of his best friend's weddings is such a mind blowing thing. There haven't been much for special occasions since he woke up again.

It's best not to think about the only other ceremony he's attended semi-recently.

It's all gone off without a hitch too. Lyle was efficient and polite as ever getting him to the event from the Nexus and with the checklist of guidelines he had to follow he's been keeping himself occupied just making sure he didn't step or speak out of turn all afternoon during the mind boggling ceremonies, actual gods present, and all manner of magic he doesn't understand. Then again, Steve's old hat at dealing with the unfamiliar by now. With a bit of help from Natasha he's cleaned up and found a suit for the occasion and done his best to stay out of the way through all the important rituals (even if he teared up during Viatorus' vows) and ceremonies.

It's only now that things start to feel familiar enough as everyone's lining up to have a turn greeting the newlywed couple that Steve's finally looking to socialize. He hangs back before jumping into the line looking for anyone he might know or who looks like they might want conversation. Make no mistake though, he's eager to talk to Viatorus so he won't linger for too long....

Going to see Viatorus

[juststeverogers]

By the time Steve gets himself through the line to greet the wedding party he's far and away long past trying to hide the glowing pride on his face for one of his best friends' on his special day. People keep mistaking him for one of the Nyströms and trying to congratulate him for the families becoming linked but all Steve can do is politely point out that he's unrelated and point them in the direction of the actual members of the Scandinavian family boisterously talking wherever Steve looks.

V and Runa look enchanting together. The closer Steve gets the more emotion saturates his face until he's a bit wet in the eyes when it's finally his turn to speak to them.

"I'm so happy for you both." It's all Steve can think of to say at first. They deserve to be happy. Both of them.

After the ceremony: Felix and Jim

[conjuredskies]

Stratos arrives with a brisk step and a sweep of robes, passing a gift to the servants for safekeeping. Felix and Jim arrive arm in arm a pace or two behind him, though the former at least is keeping a sharp eye out for watching Azerothians. The young mage is dressed in a set of formal robes, though his clothes are cut more form-fitting than is typical in Skyrim, to match the cut of the Tamrielic outfit Jim wears. They wear the cloth differently, but both are in the same shade of deep blue, embroidered with an understated pattern in gold and trimmed in ivory. They all take their seats together, Stratos prim and straight-backed in his chair while Felix relaxes and murmurs to Jim until things actually begin.

He hasn’t been this kind of happy in so long.

So much of the last three-four? – years he’s spent traipsing around a backwater province or trapped in the rigors of Legion life or, more pleasantly, exploring planes and places where the social mores are foreign and the rules of the game, if there is one, are simple. But this? This is an affair of high-born privilege and interlocking hierarchies, of wit and wizardry, politics and piety. This is for trading insinuations from behind goblets and deceptions as skilful as the dancing. This is the game he made his own, growing up in Cyrodiil.

He’s here to have fun.

But it’s not canny maneuvers or subtle jests that have him in awe as the ceremony proceeds. He was truly looking forward to witnessing the wedding ritual, knowing what he did of the Durants’ connections to their gods. It doesn’t disappoint. The appearance of the Mistress sends an electric thrill down his spine. Felix watches her with reverent fascination, hardly able to divert his eyes to take in the ceremony being carried out beneath her auspices… and almost missing the death knight taking his place in the wedding party. Fortunately the wedding rite is a potent distraction for now.

It’s a beautiful ceremony, truly. Familiar, in some ways. Intriguing, in others. Every aspect of it is weighted with powerful meaning, from the beat of the drum to the gestures of the priestesses. And the couple themselves are charming. Stratos’s heart must be melting where he sits. Felix leans forward, utterly rapt when Lady Despoina speaks. Chuckles with others in the audience when Runa makes her own addition to the vows. By the time the main procession departs and the guests begin to stand, the conjurer can’t repress his own elated thoughts.

Stratos moves away immediately, grimly determined to get on with the socializing, but Felix turns to Jim instead. He’s keeping his voice down, but his excitement shines in his face and the speed with which he talks.

“That was incredible, wasn’t it? I’m so glad we actually witnessed the main rites, I thought they might carry out the important parts in secret. Did you see the color of the handfasting rope? I think that must be significant, but perhaps I can ask them. And that business with the anointing, that was an interesting touch. That must be their family priest and his acolytes – he was at the engagement ceremony too…” There’s just so much to analyze. “Mora’s eyes, I should have been taking notes.”

[smartass_captain]

After the engagement ceremony last year Jim thought he had a pretty good idea of what he was in for this time for Viatorus and Runa's wedding. He was prepared for mages of all stripes and old European architecture, and for the inevitable side eyeing Felix was going to be getting at this get together. Hell, even Stratos showed up gift at the ready when he and Felix were preparing to leave. At Felix's suggestion Jim's agreed to wear formal attire from the mage's homeland in lieu of heading out to find himself a proper suit for the occasion. His destroyed belongings keep proving to be an inconvenience that way but Felix seems to be thrilled at their matching attire so Jim decides he looks fine. After reading the card several times for instructions Jim is pretty sure his offering to the goddess will be an acceptable gift and all that's left is to go.

Felix might be thrilling in his seat but Jim is nearly in shock.

Is this what a mage wedding looks like? The people he was expecting but the space and the decor are so extraordinary. Having to approach and greet an actual goddess (because Felix assured him she was the real thing gracing the mortal plane) is nerve wracking enough but to hear her speak during the ceremony and watching Felix nearly vibrate out of his seat with his excitement--that is something altogether different. He'd hoped the ceremony itself with its tradition and somewhat familiar themes would be comforting but it was stifling and claustrophobia inducing until Viatorus and Runa were able to speak. He sighs in relief at Viatorus' vows and reminds himself why he's here with a smile on his face.

It's difficult not to be happy when Viatorus and Runa look so very dedicated to each other.

Stratos is gone before Jim's even gotten out of his seat, much to Jim's dismay. It only lasts a second though because Felix is there and already a paragraph in to everything he's excited about and all Jim can do is give a smile and a nod while he tries to keep up. God Felix is so excited about all of this. The captain wishes he could feel the same but he's felt as though he's been sweating bullets since they arrived here.

"Easy, you'll shift right off of this plane if you're not careful." Jim's joke is soft. He spares a second to look around for anyone familiar before smiling to Felix again. "Are the ceremonies anything like this in Tamriel?"

Post-ceremony: Stratos

[auspex_caelo]

While Felix and Jim are here on their own account and may dress as it suits them, Stratos has taken up the mantle of Imperial Representative. As such, his own robes are official red and black, the tribune's demeanor gracious but utterly formal. He sits attentive and serious throughout the ceremony - or he should, but the man doesn't have a heart of stone. Foreign though the proceedings are, they're properly pious and very respectable- and genuinely touching. Afterwards, though, Stratos doesn't sit and dwell on the sentiment.

He's here to work.

He expects they'll be herded to dining tables with their strict seating rules shortly, and Felix hasn't even had a chance to get into mischief yet. That makes this the time to get in some mingling. Introduce himself to people he mightn't otherwise meet, and start picking out those he'd like to speak more with, later.

His first target: the Nyströms. Not so much because they're his overriding priority as because they're everywhere, and honestly they seem like the easiest people to speak to.

[heirtothearcane]

While many of the guests talk freely amongst themselves, Runa's side certainly seem to make new acquaintances more readily. No one is to be a stranger at this wedding. So to see someone so oddly dressed in such fine robes is, indeed, a perfect opportunity to make a new friend.

The first Nyström to spot the lonely Imperial is one of Runa's younger brother-in-laws. Fritjof has the dimpled smile of a mischief maker but wears a sharp green suit to help him blend in with the formal Durants.

"I haven't seen you before," he says as he approaches and offers a hand. "Fritjof. Runa's brother-in-law, or one of the many!"

After the Ceremony: Adia and Caspar

[chiron_survivor]

Adia and Caspar take their seats as soon as they are relieved of their gift to the the goddesses (agate figurines carved into their likenesses) and handed their translation stones. Adia holds onto her stone tightly, not wanting to miss a single word, while Caspar keeps his in his blazer's pocket. They are dressed appropriately for the occasion, Adia feeling pretty, even a little enchanted in her floral dress that pairs so well with Caspar's suit and pastel tie.

The ceremony begins, and Adia is immediately entranced. There are notable ceremonies to weddings in her culture, but even the familiar elements seem taken to another level. The arrival of a goddess is certainly not something included in a Colonial wedding. Adia literally holds her breath when Despoina and the Archon pass, not wanting to attract any attention to herself. She relaxes again when the music changes, smiling at the sight of her friends walking down the aisle. Runa looks especially radiant.

"Nice gown," Caspar murmurs. He's being sincere -- the tailor work on that is amazing.

Then Harrowheart appears with Isidor, and she freezes. She shouldn't be surprised that he's here, or even that he's Viatorus' best man, but having not seen him since he attacked his sister, the sight of him fills her with the dread of a social conflict left unresolved. He looks so calm, so nice... is this really the same man who attacked his sister? She drops her gaze, but Caspar does not. His cool, appraising stare follows the death knight all the way up to the altar.

When the priest begins to speak, Caspar takes Adia's hand and rubs gentle circles on the back of it with his thumb. This gets her to look up, and for the rest of the ceremony, she concentrates on the priest and the couple. Her smile returns, so happy for them and the love that they show for one another. And Viatorus' composure, now that she thinks about it. No way she could say her vows in front of so many people... she catches Caspar sneaking glances at her, but every time she tries to return them, his gaze shifts away as if he hadn’t been looking at her at all.

At the end of the ceremony, she claps as loudly as anyone. But when the guests get up and begin to mingle, she feels rooted to her seat, hyperaware of the crowd around her. Getting up means moving onto a reception full of people she doesn’t know, and most likely running Harrowheart. She fidgets with the protective bracelets on her wrist — Runa’s and Hermione’s — but there’s no charm against good old fashioned social anxiety.

“You want to sit her for a while?” Caspar asks her.

“Just for a minute,” she replies softly. “The reception line is forming.”

“Take your time.” He rubs the back of her hand and grins. “I need to brush up on these etiquette guidelines, anyway. I know how much you like seeing me on my knees.”

“Caspar,” she says with an embarrassed giggle, but the off-color comment shakes loose some of her nervousness. Soon enough, she feels ready to get up and socialize as she makes her way to the reception line.

[lionofthelight]

A face Zandros knows! Not necessarily well, but there's something memorable about the shrewd look of the man who claims to be a flesh golem. After the ceremony Zandros parts from his family and approaches the Cylon with a hand out for a shake.

"Caspar!" he says, all gleaming smiles, "I wasn't aware you were this close to the Durants! Light, how relieving it is to see another face I recognize here!" Then, looking at the woman nearest him, he adds, "And one I don't."

He looks to Caspar to introduce him to the lady.

[smartass_captain]

You know what this smart suit and floral dress need to really round out the party? A set of formal robes in a deep blue with gold and ivory patterns and trim. Last time they were all at one of these parties Jim was dressed of his own world and time but this time he seems to have taken on the Tamriellic way of things. At least mostly. He's foregone the hat the tailor tried to insist on. At least he looks comfortable in the garb from Felix's world.

He looks to be by himself at the moment as everyone begins to shuffle toward an orderly line, waving to Adia and Caspar when he catches his friend's eye.

"Adia! And Caspar, as well. Glad you've got company this time round, there's even more people here than there were for the engagement ceremony."

[votivescholars]

On the way to the reception line Adia is greeted by a familiar face. Oraskis' brow shoots up when he spots her and he pardons himself from a conversation with two women to go and greet her.

"Adia..." He chuckles even as he says her name, taking her hand and giving it a warm shake as soon as he's within reach. "It's good to see you again. And on such a happy occasion!"

[lionofthelight]

Ahh, finally... An occasion worth dressing up for! The special occasion has the Alters dressed to impress, and all arrive with bright and dignified smiles. Zandros is there, of course, accompanied by his sister and their mother and father. Each of them is dressed in Stormwind lordships’ finest: Zandros in a baby blue-and-gold Regency-style affair with long coattails, gleaming, tasseled epaulets, white satin gloves beneath gold-trimmed cuffs, tight pants, and ivory boots. Around his shoulders is wrapped a gold-trimmed blue cape that hangs in the shape of a semi-cirle near his lower back. His wavy, blonde hair has been tamed with oil and pulled back just enough to stay proper throughout the night without losing its volume. He and his father, who is dressed quite similarly (though in a darker shade of blue), have foregone their war medals in favor of a single, golden lion’s head pin at their breasts. His sister, Denelia, wears an outfit not unlike her brother’s, differing largely in the inversion of her colors: a golden base with blue trim. Lady Alter, their mother, is the only one in a dress, and what a massive thing it is at that. Easily 80% bustle by volume. Of course her color scheme matches her family’s, Alliance blue and gold through and through. She’s even gone so far as to wear blue eye shadow and a hint of golden highlights at her cheeks and brow. One must glow, after all. Her ample bosom heaves from the top of her dress and peeks out from under the glitter of her massive gold and diamond necklace.

The Ceremony
At no point during the ceremony do the Alters ever look completely at ease. There are peculiarities to this wedding that don’t quite measure up to their conception of the world and human culture. Beatings of drums, invocations of gods… Light. They’d all been warned, they all knew! But to be confronted with such things… Not a one of them was quite prepared. Zandros and his parents struggle the most, while Denelia at least allows herself to succumb to her curiosity and stare eagerly rather than with worry and vague scandal.

But of course it would be unseemly to allow one’s surprise to show so plainly on the face, and when the procession of finally does appear they force away their various states of uncertainty and sit properly, hands folded, faces solemn. With time each finds their smiles: Zandros at the sight of his own bride to be, Lord and Lady Alter at the exchanging of the vows, and Denelia at the tying of the rope and the invocation of the blessings. Often throughout the ceremony Lord and Lady Alter share soft looks, quite plainly remembering their own wedding and the vows they shared with one another. Zandros, meanwhile, fidgets as he sits. He, too, once promised himself to a woman, though the memory of that is bittersweet…

And still decidedly more pleasant than the sneaking suspicion that he isn’t the only one with his eyes on Isidor Durant.

When it’s time to clap each Alter does so gladly, now at ease with the religious peculiarities and fully prepared to celebrate the bringing together of two young souls as one. Elsewhere in the crowd some rowdy Nystroms make a little extra noise, coaxing Zandros into laughter.

When the process has left and the guests are left to mingle every Alter does just that, each splitting off to go their separate ways. Denelia seeks out purple-sashed scholars, while Zandros seeks patrons and the forward company of the men of Runa’s family. Lord and Lady Alter stay together and speak with attendees their own age. Each of them is more than comfortable delaying…

The Dinner
The inevitable. The greeting they were warned of. The meeting with what is alleged to be a goddess. A brush with a deity… All of them find the prospect ominous, and Zandros -- pious Zandros -- looks positively pale at the thought of it. Until, of course he’s stood next to a corpse in a suit. Harrowheart, the only unrelated Azerothian at the party, makes good enough comfort in the sharing of fear.

“You gotta thank her,” the death knight says eventually once the line to greet the goddess has thinned considerably.

”I know!” Zandros whispers, eyes cast away from the goddess, as if she might not acknowledge him if he hides from her sight. “But it feels…”

“Scary?”

”Sacreligious!” Zandros hisses, drawing the attention of the rest of his family, who join the huddle.

Harrowheart huffs, urging Zandros along with a hand at his lower back. “Ain’t you supposed to be religious? And brave? Just do it! She ain’t smote no one so far!”

“And since you, Harrowheart of the Ebon Blade, have such confidence, perhaps you should greet her first?”

”Me?!” he almost laughs in Zandros’ face but for the fear that grounds him. “She ain’t gonna smite you for not bein’ a god-worshipper, but she might smite a monster! Y’all gotta go first.”

Lord Alter leans in then and whispers something into the death knight’s ear. He listens, then hardens his expression when the older man steps away. Finally Harrowheart nods, and as his final goodbye repeats the oath of his order: “We do what the living cannot.”

From afar the Alters watch, waiting gravely for the inevitable…

Only for it not to come. Harrowheart survives his greeting, and thus each of them might follow suit. Lord Alter leads, and then his wife, followed by their daughter, and eventually their son.

The food and drink that follow are most welcome, and in short order the Alters find themselves enjoying the party once more. Lord Alter’s cheeks turn red with Arvid’s speech, touchingly relatable, and Denelia scans the crowd to find the most sparse dress (and the infamous Poenia inside it) at Harrowheart’s joke. But the part of the night they’re all most eager for is:

The Evening
The dance! By the time Runa and Viatorus share their first dance as a couple Zandros has already had enough wine to get him a touch tipsy, which means he doesn’t stop himself from swaying along to the beat. He glances now and then to Isidor to smile fondly at her lovely face, but there’s something so lovely about the wedded couple’s first dance that he spends the majority of it watching them. Viatorus takes the lead, which somehow comes as a surprise. By the end of the song he finds himself clapping eagerly before he realizes he’s doing it. He begins to rise from his seat for the dance that follows only to see all too late that Isidor has prior obligations.

The maid of honor must dance with the best man, after all… But he’ll have the next dance. First with Harrowheart, and then, once the dead man recedes into the crowd, with his own future bride.

And he’ll have many dances after that! With anyone who asks -- from Lieselotte to unknown ladies young and old. And more than just dances, he’ll have drinks! All of the Alters will. The hands of Stormwind nobles were perfectly crafted to hold a glass of wine, and their lips were made to drink it. By late evening, just before the tiredness sets in, they’re laughing as loudly as any Nystrom and joking with the best of them -- Zandros without the help of a translator, thanks entirely to the Nexus’ residual magic. Long after the goddess has left they'll file off to find someplace to sleep, but until then perhaps they'll all make a few new friends.

[juststeverogers]

By the time the tables have vanished and been replaced by mood lighting, music, and dancing couples Steve has come to terms with the fact that he's going to have to socialize this evening more than he has been so far. The drinks that come do nothing for him but they make everyone else more loose lipped and open. He wishes he wasn't the only sober man at the party but what can a super soldier do?

There's been a lot of attention he's had to deal with off and on throughout the afternoon and evening and by the time the dance floor opens up Steve's situated himself right off the dance floor to mingle with those who come and go from it. Dances are a bittersweet thing for him and he hasn't yet worked up the nerve to get out there.

Waiting for the right partner.

But he does spy a familiar face in Zandros passing by so Steve gives him a smile and a wave.

"Good to see you again, Zandros."

[Insert Jaws theme]

[conjuredskies]

Immediately following the ceremony it may look as if Felix is mingling with the other guests without any particular direction or purpose, but his seemingly random walk is taking him slowly closer to the Alters. He takes a little time to form impressions of the whole group before he moves in. They seem to have found their footing among the rest of the aristocratic crowd, but he's sure he can find some angle to work against them. Well, one in particular. He hasn't heard any complaints against Zandros's family yet. He meets a couple of familiar faces from the engagement along the way, so the Imperial mage has a genuinely relaxed stride and an easy smile when he finally turns from a conversation and 'happens' to find himself face to face with Zandros Alter.

Felix blinks in feigned surprise, and tilts his head as he takes in the man up close. Zandros's mode of dress is utterly foreign, though the conjurer will admit he wears it with panache, and he can't fault the Alters' color scheme given how close it is to his own. Met close to, the Azerothian knight cuts a genuinely dashing figure, even if his style is eccentric.

"Ah! Now I'm certain we haven't been introduced!" He bows smoothly and politely. "Felix Caelus, battlemage of the Imperial Legion of Tamriel. Are you a relative of the Durant family, or a friend?" Zandros doesn't, of course, wear a sash, but who knows how far their blood ties extend?

Congratulations are in Order: Zandros Meets Runa

[lionofthelight]

How terribly conflicting to attend the wedding of a woman Zandros does not know! Viatorus he has met, of course, but in the short time he's known the Durant family he's yet to be introduced to the bride herself. Once dinner is through and she is marginally more free (though good luck catching her between conversations with her family, friends, and the congregation at large!) Zandros makes his move.

He arrives briskly with his coattails swaying in his wake. As soon as he's caught Runa's attention he bows deeply "The lovely Runa Nystrom – Or rather, Runa Durant! It is an honor to meet you at last, and on such a momentous occasion! Congratulations, my dear."

Still bowed low he offers one open palm to her and with his other hand to his chest introduces himself. "I am Zandros Alter, and I suppose soon you and I shall be related through marriage!"

Just when Zandros thought it was safe to go back in...

[conjuredskies]

By the time Felix returned to his fiance again, it was with a spring in his step and the faint, self-satisfied quirk to his polite smile that Jim Kirk knows only too well. Felix hardly even had to catch his eye for the captain to know he accomplished exactly what he wanted. Little has actually been said about it since then, but Felix has been content to stay by Jim's side through the dinner and the early dances, even while watching Zandros dance (and 'dance') with Isidor and Harrowheart. Despite the fact that his free hand never seems to be free of a wine glass, the conjurer's eyes are sharp as he follows the movements of the other players on the field. Reads the signs in stilted laughter and constructed expressions and plots.

When he turns to Jim again, his eyes are bright with more than eagerness for the dance he's insisting on. They've danced together so many times since they met. After all that's happened, it's still as pure and uncomplicated as ever. Forget burning shipwrecks and fetid crypts and cold, cruel hands in the night. When they dance it's simply the two of them, robes swirling with their steps, wholly in tune and wrapped up in the moment between them.

When it ends- when the third or maybe the fourth dance of theirs ends, that is - a few low words are murmured between them before Felix chuckles and leads them both back into the crowd to locate drinks. They've both earned a chance to catch their breath.

"I suppose it would be selfish of me to wear you out before you've danced with anyone else," he remarks, offering Jim a glass. "I wouldn't want to be a poor guest. Especially since we've hardly spoken to our good hosts yet..."

His gaze flits aside as the servant bearing the drinks turns toward another flash of brilliant aristocratic color, automatically taking in their imminent company.

The Burned Man

[votivescholars]

With the dinner done and the dancing begun, the crippled man who made such waves at the start of the evening is all but forgotten. He is relegated to some far corner in the back of the hall, a small distance away from a table where many of the older guests watch the dancers or talk in relative peace.

Those who come closer to the man find he only gets more horrifying to look at the more they see. The atmospheric lighting is truly a boon. The way his skin is morphed, half melted over his features makes him look more like a monster than a man. Despite this, he is dressed properly, as befits an Accomplished Scholar of the Durants which his purple sash denotes. There's a nice collection of pins on there, too, matched almost equally by the pins on his Patron's sash. His brother is his only companion this evening, staying dutifully by his side, and occasionally speaking with him. The man's rounded jawline and large nose differentiate him from the Durants closer to the Archon's side of the family. However, the traditional concern for family shows in his thin lips and eyelids that sag with worry whenever he turns to his brother. With the exception of acquiring a single glass of wine for the Patron to hold, they seem set on staying in the one place while the party unfolds around them.

Every so often, Stathis comes close as he does the rounds, and speaks to the elder guests nearby. Each time he does, he looks over to the man in the wheelchair, as if checking he's still there, and moves along. Even the servants seem hesitant to approach them, although that might be in part due to the suspicious glares the Patron gives those who get too close.

[juststeverogers]

When footsteps next approach the wheelchair-bound man his patron might be forgiven for wondering if Stathis has come back for how sure of step they seem. But they don't seem to be hesitating nor stopping by the nearby table.

Steve Rogers carries his drink in one hand as he approaches both the seated man and his silent protector. His entire demeanor is respectful when he regards the patron. Truthfully the more of the seated man Steve sees, the more determined he is that this is the right thing to do. This man has given much to be here tonight, knowing he'd be talked about and treated like this. He's owed respect and to not be relegated to a corner as though he were something unwanted.

"I wanted to know if there was anything I could get for you or your Scholar." He's noticed the other hasn't left the seated man's side. If he can help he'd sure like to.