Timestamp: 4th Day of Summer, 513 A.V.
Location: Elena Lariat's Estate
It was a cool, clear day when Alses first went to crave a boon from Lady Elena Lariat.
Her ladyship – the title seemed to be an automatic one, acquired after sufficient effort to accrue influence was expended - was the reclusive, eccentric and fabulously wealthy magus who, it appeared, was the only one in all of the celestial city with a magical laboratory that was both adapted for Alses' specialised requirements and, further, not already in use. The Dusk Tower's own laboratory was currently the private domain of Ald'gare Dusk himself – apparently for the wards that had been built into its construction rather than the array of specialised equipment that informed its primary function – and however prideful and skilled Alses was, she wasn't about to challenge the Patriarch of House Dusk's authority and right to do whatever he pleased in his own home.
It would have been a) suicidal and b) bad manners – and the Alses who was slowly, slowly emerging under Chiona's rather unusual tutelage was attempting to be a little more socially-conscious.
Chiona's advice – such as it was, anyway – had been to dress well, and to accentuate her beauty. For someone whose beauty regime consisted mostly of polishing her crown-of-horns, combing her hair and making sure her skin and fingernails weren't dirty, this was something of a challenge. Nonetheless, she'd done her best, polishing her glittering horns until they shone like frozen fire, and the day was that perfect sort that saw the sunlight highlighting every shimmering colour in her fire-opal skin, putting the gilt threading in her silken robes to shame.
The Lariat estate was a monument to civilian wealth and power second only to the Towers in Lhavit, a palatial sprawl of many spires and minarets and domes, of enclosed atria and verdant gardens bursting with health and exotic plants, all of it walled off from the rest of the city by a shimmering skyglass barrier – easy to vault over, to be sure (if you had that kind of mindset), but doubtless salted with all sorts of defensive wards and traps and Syna-knew-what-else to prevent just such an occurrence.
Elena Lariat was a successful and powerful wizard; one didn't approach that lofty pinnacle by being gullible or incautious, after all. Best to enter properly; she wasn't any sort of criminal, after all. The ornate gateposts were the only ostensible gap in the perimeter wall, and therefore her destination, as a legitimate visitor.
Alses passed between the ornate gateposts – with a friendly smile to the Shinya and the gatesman standing vigil, because manners were important – and into the rarefied atmosphere of the estate itself. This was not, in truth, the first time she'd visited; that had, in fact, been several days prior, in order to lay the groundwork, as it were.
A
Several Days Earlier...
A garden in the tenuous grasp of Summer hummed with vegetative pleasure all around her as Alses – resplendent in her instructor's robes, having come straight from a lesson at the Dusk Tower – contemplated the main building of Elena Lariat's estate; a three-story, tiered wedding-cake affair of skyglass and pale marble shimmering under the benevolent sunlight.
A colonnaded portico, bedecked with swags of elegant drapery and further extended into the gardens with pergolas around which wisteria climbed with patient slowness, ran around the bottom storey, sheltering the rooms beyond from the glare of the sun and providing the servants, immaculately turned-out and beautiful to the last, with some welcome shade, even in their finery.
Close-packed gravel crunched under her booted heels as she approached, and then skyglass chimed softly as she mounted the shallow steps into the incense-scented dimness of the portico. The very instant she did so, a handsome young Lhavitian – well-fed in a manner only the wealthy could afford in this day and age – shimmered forward with a deferential bow.
“Good morning, blessed one.” His tones were rich and silky-smooth, layer upon layer of mesmerising depth resonating gently out into the world, far more remarkable than his pleasant visage. Alses didn't even find the usual flash of irritation at the common title, the couching caress of his voice soothing any annoyance away.
“May I ask your business with the Lariat estate?” came the next question, again achingly polite and well-phrased in that luscious voice. So much nicer than an Animated guardian or a gruff guardsman, all that 'Halt!' and 'State your business!' nonsense. Perhaps mistaking her pause for something else, the servant continued apologetically: “I'm sorry to say that the estate does not accept solictations or uninvited guests, even ones such as your august self, ma'am.”
Recalled to her primary purpose, Alses waved one gloved hand in dismissal. “Your pardon. We – I was wondering whether I might speak to Lady Lariat's secretary, seneschal, reeve or man of affairs?”
A brief pause, perhaps confused by the battery of titles she'd thrown out, and then the buttery voice came back with a reply. “That might be arranged, ma'am. May I ask what for?”
Alses frowned, mildly irritated; she'd not expected such questioning merely to see a functionary. A vital functionary, yes, she'd be the first to admit that secretaries were necessary, having seen the evidence first-hand, but they had to be at least marginally accessible, surely?
“To make an appointment, what else?” was her slightly sharp reply. “It's the logical progression, no? Your employer's time is valuable and I highly doubt she would clear her schedule simply to see us on a whim. Similarly, we can ill-afford bell upon bell being stuck in a waiting-room, so an appointment of mutual convenience is the best way forward I can see. Thus, her secretary, and his power over her diary and engagements.”
Another pause, this one contemplative, assessive, and then a diffident cough and a gesture in the dimness with one white-gloved hand. Double doors cracked open, spilling out bright light and a rolling wave of incense, and she was invited inside in short order.
No further words were exchanged between Alses and the footman as she allowed herself to be guided through the sumptuous interior of Elena Lariat's home. Silk and skyglass was much in evidence and often paired with jewels and precious metals, a battering impression of wealth and success from all sides. Opulence, that was what breathed in golden waves from the walls, the floor, the ceiling, even the furniture. Fortunes had been lavished on this place, and it showed.
Even the secretary's office was plush, money whispering from every accoutrement and trimming, from the paintings on the walls to the silk-upholstered chairs and divans scattered about to the desk itself, an intricately-carved mass of dark wood and sage-green leather.
The footman rapped politely on the open door – it didn't look as if the portal to this silk-swathed room was often shut – and then stepped over the threshold.
“Sir?” he intoned respectfully, ducking his head in a brief genuflection. “This lady wishes to speak to you. If I might leave her in your care?”
The secretary was not at his desk; the response came instead from one of the chaise lounges positioned close to the windows overlooking a lush courtyard garden in which bougainvillea exploded in joyous profusion.
“Yes, yes, indeed you may. Back to your post. Come and take a seat by me, madam, and present your case. Her ladyship has many demands on her time, and is ill-inclined to answer most of them.”
Location: Elena Lariat's Estate
It was a cool, clear day when Alses first went to crave a boon from Lady Elena Lariat.
Her ladyship – the title seemed to be an automatic one, acquired after sufficient effort to accrue influence was expended - was the reclusive, eccentric and fabulously wealthy magus who, it appeared, was the only one in all of the celestial city with a magical laboratory that was both adapted for Alses' specialised requirements and, further, not already in use. The Dusk Tower's own laboratory was currently the private domain of Ald'gare Dusk himself – apparently for the wards that had been built into its construction rather than the array of specialised equipment that informed its primary function – and however prideful and skilled Alses was, she wasn't about to challenge the Patriarch of House Dusk's authority and right to do whatever he pleased in his own home.
It would have been a) suicidal and b) bad manners – and the Alses who was slowly, slowly emerging under Chiona's rather unusual tutelage was attempting to be a little more socially-conscious.
Chiona's advice – such as it was, anyway – had been to dress well, and to accentuate her beauty. For someone whose beauty regime consisted mostly of polishing her crown-of-horns, combing her hair and making sure her skin and fingernails weren't dirty, this was something of a challenge. Nonetheless, she'd done her best, polishing her glittering horns until they shone like frozen fire, and the day was that perfect sort that saw the sunlight highlighting every shimmering colour in her fire-opal skin, putting the gilt threading in her silken robes to shame.
The Lariat estate was a monument to civilian wealth and power second only to the Towers in Lhavit, a palatial sprawl of many spires and minarets and domes, of enclosed atria and verdant gardens bursting with health and exotic plants, all of it walled off from the rest of the city by a shimmering skyglass barrier – easy to vault over, to be sure (if you had that kind of mindset), but doubtless salted with all sorts of defensive wards and traps and Syna-knew-what-else to prevent just such an occurrence.
Elena Lariat was a successful and powerful wizard; one didn't approach that lofty pinnacle by being gullible or incautious, after all. Best to enter properly; she wasn't any sort of criminal, after all. The ornate gateposts were the only ostensible gap in the perimeter wall, and therefore her destination, as a legitimate visitor.
Alses passed between the ornate gateposts – with a friendly smile to the Shinya and the gatesman standing vigil, because manners were important – and into the rarefied atmosphere of the estate itself. This was not, in truth, the first time she'd visited; that had, in fact, been several days prior, in order to lay the groundwork, as it were.
A
Several Days Earlier...
A garden in the tenuous grasp of Summer hummed with vegetative pleasure all around her as Alses – resplendent in her instructor's robes, having come straight from a lesson at the Dusk Tower – contemplated the main building of Elena Lariat's estate; a three-story, tiered wedding-cake affair of skyglass and pale marble shimmering under the benevolent sunlight.
A colonnaded portico, bedecked with swags of elegant drapery and further extended into the gardens with pergolas around which wisteria climbed with patient slowness, ran around the bottom storey, sheltering the rooms beyond from the glare of the sun and providing the servants, immaculately turned-out and beautiful to the last, with some welcome shade, even in their finery.
Close-packed gravel crunched under her booted heels as she approached, and then skyglass chimed softly as she mounted the shallow steps into the incense-scented dimness of the portico. The very instant she did so, a handsome young Lhavitian – well-fed in a manner only the wealthy could afford in this day and age – shimmered forward with a deferential bow.
“Good morning, blessed one.” His tones were rich and silky-smooth, layer upon layer of mesmerising depth resonating gently out into the world, far more remarkable than his pleasant visage. Alses didn't even find the usual flash of irritation at the common title, the couching caress of his voice soothing any annoyance away.
“May I ask your business with the Lariat estate?” came the next question, again achingly polite and well-phrased in that luscious voice. So much nicer than an Animated guardian or a gruff guardsman, all that 'Halt!' and 'State your business!' nonsense. Perhaps mistaking her pause for something else, the servant continued apologetically: “I'm sorry to say that the estate does not accept solictations or uninvited guests, even ones such as your august self, ma'am.”
Recalled to her primary purpose, Alses waved one gloved hand in dismissal. “Your pardon. We – I was wondering whether I might speak to Lady Lariat's secretary, seneschal, reeve or man of affairs?”
A brief pause, perhaps confused by the battery of titles she'd thrown out, and then the buttery voice came back with a reply. “That might be arranged, ma'am. May I ask what for?”
Alses frowned, mildly irritated; she'd not expected such questioning merely to see a functionary. A vital functionary, yes, she'd be the first to admit that secretaries were necessary, having seen the evidence first-hand, but they had to be at least marginally accessible, surely?
“To make an appointment, what else?” was her slightly sharp reply. “It's the logical progression, no? Your employer's time is valuable and I highly doubt she would clear her schedule simply to see us on a whim. Similarly, we can ill-afford bell upon bell being stuck in a waiting-room, so an appointment of mutual convenience is the best way forward I can see. Thus, her secretary, and his power over her diary and engagements.”
Another pause, this one contemplative, assessive, and then a diffident cough and a gesture in the dimness with one white-gloved hand. Double doors cracked open, spilling out bright light and a rolling wave of incense, and she was invited inside in short order.
No further words were exchanged between Alses and the footman as she allowed herself to be guided through the sumptuous interior of Elena Lariat's home. Silk and skyglass was much in evidence and often paired with jewels and precious metals, a battering impression of wealth and success from all sides. Opulence, that was what breathed in golden waves from the walls, the floor, the ceiling, even the furniture. Fortunes had been lavished on this place, and it showed.
Even the secretary's office was plush, money whispering from every accoutrement and trimming, from the paintings on the walls to the silk-upholstered chairs and divans scattered about to the desk itself, an intricately-carved mass of dark wood and sage-green leather.
The footman rapped politely on the open door – it didn't look as if the portal to this silk-swathed room was often shut – and then stepped over the threshold.
“Sir?” he intoned respectfully, ducking his head in a brief genuflection. “This lady wishes to speak to you. If I might leave her in your care?”
The secretary was not at his desk; the response came instead from one of the chaise lounges positioned close to the windows overlooking a lush courtyard garden in which bougainvillea exploded in joyous profusion.
“Yes, yes, indeed you may. Back to your post. Come and take a seat by me, madam, and present your case. Her ladyship has many demands on her time, and is ill-inclined to answer most of them.”