The Kingdom of Nexonia - Auriana's Court RP

[AurianaValoria1]

Auriana allowed herself to be tugged along by her slightly tipsy fashion advisor, glancing back over her shoulder at the Royal Janitor, "Oh my! I forgot about the orchestra! Go ahead and send them a request, then...I'll trust your judgment!"

 

Stewie had been hand-picked to fulfill the role of janitor of her magnificent palace...there was no one else with better eyes and ears. If he had heard of a good company of musicians, then surely they would be suitable for such an occasion.

[M48A5]

The GPPS Cat, having left the Lord of Lunacy, continues on his exploration of the castle. Hoping to find a place suitable for a well deserved nap, he notices an open door and enters the room.

"Ah, what a wonderful place. There is even a large orange scratching post here. I think I will give my claws a good sharpening and get a good nap on the resulting shreds. Goodnight."

[Eckss]

For thy wicked soul and thy many crimes,
Thou shalt speak naught but jaunty rhymes.
If thou shouldst break this Geas I've lain,
Thy skull shall split with hellish pain.
So that all will see thy empty soul
I take from thee what makes thee whole
The truth is out, thou art to blame
I take from thee thy very name
No friend nor fame nor love thy lot,
Thou art a stain, Eckss marks the spot...

 

 

Clutching at his throbbing skull with both, bony hands, the Lord High Executioner silently cursed the witch and the foul Geas she had cast upon him. The pain slowly eased and he decided that it would be better to follow the Geas for now and see about tracking down the witch later.

 

"Ploppy! Come here you swine!"
Throb, THRob, THROB!
"Er, hurry up, fall in line!"

The growing agony receded.

 

The Jailor's stench arrived in the prison office, followed shortly by the jailor. "Yes, milord?"

 

Pausing to think up a rhyme, the courtier with no name spoke with faltering rhythm.

"The jail is overcrowded and it must stop.
Line up knaves and varlots, who's for the chop?"

 

"Milord, there's three this week.
IllegalRip, a purveyor of stolen artworks is due for the block on Monday.
Spambot, an unlicenced purveyor of Spiced Pork And haM is to be hung on Wednesday.
SkyrimPirate, a cad of the first water is to be hung, drawn and quartered on Friday."

 

"What's all this? That's not right,
Move Wednesday's knave to Monday night.
Don't look like that, don't you scoff,
I want to have the midweek off.
Now get to work, my hideous friend,
I've got a coronation to attend."

 

With that, the Lord High Executioner wrapped a dark, ermine robe about his aching bones and creaked his way out of the Royal Prison Tower.
His boots had disappeared again; where they should be, there was nothing but a whisp of cat dander and a single black feather.

Proceeding into the Royal Gardens and making his way toward the Palace without his boots, Eckss hoped that no one would notice - It should be fine as long as the floors aren't recently waxed...

Edited July 6, 2013 by Eckss

[Lisnpuppy]

Watching the new Queen and her handmaiden, the Goddess wondered if there were more window through which she could peer. Taking flight she noted a form wrapped in a dark robe, moving slowly and a bit ungainly toward the palace from the tower. Flying and circling overhead the Goddess wondered why this one felt familiar to her. Had she seen him while washing at the ford?

 

*Perhaps he can be useful to me. It would be much better to see from the INSIDE* The Goddess smiled to herself.

 

*I will...oh bloody boil and blast what is it the humans say? Oh yes...I shall make friends with it.* The Great Raven flapped back to slow her speed and landed...much better this time...in the path in front of the dark-robed figure.

 

"CAW! CAW!" The Goddess called in her best raspy, raven voice. She then dropped the piece of glass in front of the figure and hopped around.

 

*That should get its attention*

[darkedge42392]

The Lord Constable took eager steps toward the Great Hall, feeling the excitement in his veins as the coronation of the soon to be Queen Auriana swept along toward its arrival. He passed many servants here and there, uncustomarily grinning. Today would be a good day!

 

Unfortunately, his recently polished boots came heel to stone with the recently polished floors and he wondered why he was suddenly staring at the high vaulted ceiling, and why oh why there was a terrible pain in his head.

 

Glancing down, he realized why. "Oww...." Gently, the Constable with no name and only the title of "Dark Edge" stood up, rubbing the knot thrusting its stubborn way from the back of his skull. Sighing, he straightened his black sword in its sheath, and took a step toward the Great Hall again.

 

He slipped. But this time he did not fall. Catching himself on a passing servant with a curse, he sharply heard an intake of breath, then felt a stinging slap land upon his cheek before winding up right back where he had been earlier on the highly polished floor. Groaning, he rubbed his cheek as the he rolled an eye in the direction of his assailant as they stormed away. It was one of the ladies-in-waiting. He covered his face with his palm in shame. He knew what he had done, and his cheeks burned red for it.

 

Finally, the Constable stood up, and this time very, very carefully, tiptoed across the floor to the Great Hall.

[M48A5]

The GPPS Cat went back to the room where he made his bed thinking, "Walking through this whole bloody castle and not a decent sandbox anywhere. I'll have to make do with these smelly boots I found. From the odor, no one will notice. And if I ever see that clumsy black bird in my castle again, it'll loose more than one feather."

[Eckss]

Hmm, a gift from a Raven? Picking up the coloured glass, the Lord High Executioner peered at the Raven from beneath a bony brow, wondering what could possibly motivate this strange act of, what? Generosity? Littering?

[mythicdawnmaster]

"Here your majesty! The cat bed!" Mistress Mythic announced gleefully as she lead Auriana into the room, gazing at the torn dress that was now home to a rather peculiar cat as though it had looked like that prior. However the overly large smile that strained Mistress Mythics face soon faded as she looked between the dress and Auriana. "It's ruined!" She stumbled as she recoiled from the shock, the large coiffure of hair that sat atop her head making contact with a candle, and lighting the large nest of curled hair and bizarre ornaments alight.

 

"We are doomed Auriana! You have no dress! That blooming cat ruined it! I think I'll either cry, or wring it's neck." She stamped her foot and attempted to shoo the cat away, still oblivious to the forest fire atop her head.

[AurianaValoria1]

Raising her brows in horror first at the shredded dress, then at her advisor's flaming hair, Auriana instinctively grabbed the first thing in reach - Mistress Mythic's champagne glass - and doused it on top of the fashion advisor's head, extinguishing the flames in a rather unorthodox manner. She then took her handkerchief and dabbed at Mythic's face, all the while throwing out ideas as they popped into her head, "Well, don't we have another? Or can we get another rather quickly? Or what if we were to just cut this one shorter?"

Edited July 6, 2013 by AurianaValoria1

[Zephyr2011]

The captain of the Royal Guard stood alert, watching by the side of the Royal Throne, a great ugly thing really. It was high backed, padded with orange cushion, the upholstery of the month. That was all well and good, but the wood was old, wiry and un-ornamented. He suspected that it was actually an old dining room chair brought up from the cellar until a new one could be fashioned. One that could detect poison and plots would be nice. The captain thought. His silver armor gleamed flawlessly in the shafts of sunlight that filtered through the stained glass windows, taking on the pallor of whatever pattern happened to grace him. Crimson scrollwork ran all about his armor and three great wolves danced upon his breastplate, the sigil of the guard. Over his shoulders flowed a cloth-of-silver cape fastened by ruby wolves. His pauldrons themselves were crimson with silver scrollwork to contrast with his cape and armor. It was a splendid raiment. He hated it.

 

The beautiful design was mostly the Royal Fashion Designer's, embellished, adjusted, modified and created by the Royal Smith. It looked splendid and regal enough, and befit his high station, but why should the kingdom waste good steel, silver and time on making a new suit of armor just for him and just for ceremonies? His own steel raiment was expertly crafted, spell-smithed in fact, with incantations sung into the very plates, rings and links. It was lighter, fit him perfectly, and would turn blades better. He would sooner have a practical piece than a fashionable one. But he supposed that ceremony was an important facet of the court. At least his discomfort was nothing to his Queen's, he at least had the same kind of attire. As much as he disliked the unnecessary expenditure on his armor, it was still armor and it was good armor, Her Grace had to wear dresses when she preferred shirts and breeches and her sword by her side. He pitied her, and saw that her suffering was not in vain, and that she would not come to any harm in such uncomfortable clothing.

 

Guards were posted outside the mainhall, within the mainhall and every room, hallway and garden that the Queen would visit on this highly planned day. The men were good men, loyal men, but they weren't very distinct. No one titled or even well known. They would, however, get the job done. The janitor was mucking things up a little though, he knew the man meant well and he certainly appreciated the fact that the floors were so polished he was able to spy a piece of bacon caught in his teeth from breakfast in his reflection. The floors were so slick, half his guards flopped on their faces, the rest on their bums and he himself and nearly done so as well, but grabbed a nearby statue to steady himself. After that he had ordered all of his men to remove their boots and don slippers that glided along the floors. If you ran the still might lose purchase but they facilitated a shuffling movement that was far faster and safer than walking. It was a comical sight, all these men in such serious silver and red armor shuffling around like little rabbits everywhere, but no one fell anymore.

 

He saw his friend the constable enter and noticed him fall. The captain of the guard shuffled as quickly as he could to aid his friend and coworker, but before he reached the good lawman, he had risen... Only to grope a woman when he nearly fell, and then fall following a prompt slap. The captain's face reddened out of sympathy and he hurried to assist his comrade, a spare pair of slippers from behind the throne in hand. The Dark Edge had already reached the side of the throne room when the captain made it over to him, the place was awfully big after all. "Here, you might find these more suitable to getting around in this place today. Can't have the Queen's guard and the Queen's justice falling on their arses on her coronation day, now can we?" the captain smiled broadly.