Visla Eraclaire
08-20-11, 06:11 AM
The sky glowed a soft blue, its sun still sitting beneath the distant horizon, beyond the sea. A chill mist clung to the cold autumnal earth and left a watery glaze on the window panes of Visla's parlor. Beyond the glass, beyond the rocky promentory upon which her manor house sat, the city of Estervale slept beneath a blanket of fog.
Visla had tossed off her own blankets hours ago and begun preparations for the auspicious day to come. She had been dressed and ready while even her servants were still slumbering away. A silver gown flowed down from a high waist. From beneath lengthy sleeves, elegant silken gloves covered her hands. Her skin crawled beneath the many luxurious layers and her stomach turned.
She turned from the window toward a set of crimson curtains that separated the small sitting room from the vast hall beyond. From inside her red-draped sanctuary, she could not see it, but she knew the colonnade chamber well. At the far side two great oaken doors gave way to a courtyard where even now subjects gathered to for their audiences.
The crowd could be heard through distance, wood, and stone, but only as a whisper. As the otherwise silent minutes passed, a whisper grew to a murmur, then a rumble, then a groan as the doors were thrown open. Clattering feet echoed on the marble floors and the voices became a cacophony of awestruck gab and stern shouts for silence.
An earsplitting clap of metal brought order to the chaos. Visla could hear the voice of her seneschal, calm and assertive, though spoken with a forked tongue. He explained an elaborate method of queues, vouchers, and other beaurocracy that would determine who she saw this day and the next, and the next.
The idea of the long road of days like this one stretching out for the remaining years of her life did nothing for her unease. She slumped a bit in her chair, even as he announced her entrance. A pair of guardsmen passed through the curtain to escort her. As they took their positions on either side of her, Visla felt like a man being lead to the gallows.
One took the silver circlet from the table and placed it on Visla's head. It fell a bit low on her brow, and she pushed it up. She had certainly worn it before, but she continued to be surprised how heavy it was, and not in some loathsome metaphorical sense. As displeased as she was at this early hour, it was a level of contempt that she held for almost all public activities. Given the choice to be on the throne or in the crowd, the former was infinitely preferable.
A small trumpet fanfare, one she had specifically suggested was over the top, sounded as the curtains were parted and she took her first steps toward the dais where she would take the seat of power for the first time.
"Her Enlightened Majesty, the Viscount Estervale, Provost of Uiria, and Baroness Umberland, Lady Visla Eraclaire will now hear her loyal subjects' pleas for intercession."
By the time he had finished her titles, Visla had already made her way to the red velvet throne and taken her seat. The hall had been cleared but for a pair of middle-aged commoners, ostensibly husband and wife, with bowed heads standing a respectful distance from the base of the sovereigns platform.
The two guards, one a traditional man-at-arms of Estervale and the other a young Eudaemonian woman with a slick appearance and no visible armament took their positions at either side of the throne. Gaius, the tiefling ordinator who had brought the chamber to order and announced her entry, called the first case.
"Humphry and Emilee Dorcet from the lowlands of Coaster seek audience with your majesty on a matter of realty."
The man looked puzzled at the announcement. His voice clung in his throat until a jab to the ribs from his wife knocked it loose.
"Land!" he shouted, more startled than forceful. He composed himself a bit before continuing, "--er, Higness, we, my wife and I, you see, we, we live in Coaster, and, have for our whole lives, fathers, grandfathers, I remember when you were born, and I've always been a loyal subject, and your father the Baron, rest his soul, we never asked him for a thing, and now with all the changes..."
Visla listened patiently as the sentence dragged on and on. Gaius clutched his metal gavel, which was itself in the shape of a clinched claw not so different from his own. The noble lady raised a hand, which stopped both Gaius and the rambling Humphry.
"You were here to ask something about your land, was it?" she asked with a measured lack of frustration.
"Yes milady, or, eh, rather, to ask for some land. Our home was, well, we have none now, got in the way of progress, as it was, so..." The man began to step forward toward the dais.
Gaius scowled and spoke up, "The Dorcets' homestead near Coaster was in the path of the Via Arcana."
"I see. Very polite of you not to say that I am the reason you have no home," Visla smiled and the man bowed and edged back toward his wife. "I shall give you a choice then. How many acres was it that they lost?"
"Ten and three-quarters."
"Very well, Mr. and Mrs. Dorcet, you may have ten and three-quarters of the acreage from my family's estate in Lombry, if that is to your liking, or you may have thirty acres in Umberland."
The man turned to his wife, who pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders in a sort of bemused acceptance.
"Truly?" she asked for herself.
"Lady Eraclaire's word is Law, she speaks only the truth by very--"
"Yes, truly," Visla cut her overbearing courtier short. "Umberland needs hardy and loyal subjects like yourselves, but I would not force the frontier upon you."
Minutes later the couple strolled into the crowded courtyard with Salvarian deed in hand, the infernal script of their land grant still burning from Gaius' pen. The smiles on their faces inspired even more pushing and shoving in the crowd, as dozens clamored to be heard.
Beyond the walls of the courtyard, over the cliffs and beyond the waves, the sun shone bright and cleared the mist from Estervale below.
Visla had tossed off her own blankets hours ago and begun preparations for the auspicious day to come. She had been dressed and ready while even her servants were still slumbering away. A silver gown flowed down from a high waist. From beneath lengthy sleeves, elegant silken gloves covered her hands. Her skin crawled beneath the many luxurious layers and her stomach turned.
She turned from the window toward a set of crimson curtains that separated the small sitting room from the vast hall beyond. From inside her red-draped sanctuary, she could not see it, but she knew the colonnade chamber well. At the far side two great oaken doors gave way to a courtyard where even now subjects gathered to for their audiences.
The crowd could be heard through distance, wood, and stone, but only as a whisper. As the otherwise silent minutes passed, a whisper grew to a murmur, then a rumble, then a groan as the doors were thrown open. Clattering feet echoed on the marble floors and the voices became a cacophony of awestruck gab and stern shouts for silence.
An earsplitting clap of metal brought order to the chaos. Visla could hear the voice of her seneschal, calm and assertive, though spoken with a forked tongue. He explained an elaborate method of queues, vouchers, and other beaurocracy that would determine who she saw this day and the next, and the next.
The idea of the long road of days like this one stretching out for the remaining years of her life did nothing for her unease. She slumped a bit in her chair, even as he announced her entrance. A pair of guardsmen passed through the curtain to escort her. As they took their positions on either side of her, Visla felt like a man being lead to the gallows.
One took the silver circlet from the table and placed it on Visla's head. It fell a bit low on her brow, and she pushed it up. She had certainly worn it before, but she continued to be surprised how heavy it was, and not in some loathsome metaphorical sense. As displeased as she was at this early hour, it was a level of contempt that she held for almost all public activities. Given the choice to be on the throne or in the crowd, the former was infinitely preferable.
A small trumpet fanfare, one she had specifically suggested was over the top, sounded as the curtains were parted and she took her first steps toward the dais where she would take the seat of power for the first time.
"Her Enlightened Majesty, the Viscount Estervale, Provost of Uiria, and Baroness Umberland, Lady Visla Eraclaire will now hear her loyal subjects' pleas for intercession."
By the time he had finished her titles, Visla had already made her way to the red velvet throne and taken her seat. The hall had been cleared but for a pair of middle-aged commoners, ostensibly husband and wife, with bowed heads standing a respectful distance from the base of the sovereigns platform.
The two guards, one a traditional man-at-arms of Estervale and the other a young Eudaemonian woman with a slick appearance and no visible armament took their positions at either side of the throne. Gaius, the tiefling ordinator who had brought the chamber to order and announced her entry, called the first case.
"Humphry and Emilee Dorcet from the lowlands of Coaster seek audience with your majesty on a matter of realty."
The man looked puzzled at the announcement. His voice clung in his throat until a jab to the ribs from his wife knocked it loose.
"Land!" he shouted, more startled than forceful. He composed himself a bit before continuing, "--er, Higness, we, my wife and I, you see, we, we live in Coaster, and, have for our whole lives, fathers, grandfathers, I remember when you were born, and I've always been a loyal subject, and your father the Baron, rest his soul, we never asked him for a thing, and now with all the changes..."
Visla listened patiently as the sentence dragged on and on. Gaius clutched his metal gavel, which was itself in the shape of a clinched claw not so different from his own. The noble lady raised a hand, which stopped both Gaius and the rambling Humphry.
"You were here to ask something about your land, was it?" she asked with a measured lack of frustration.
"Yes milady, or, eh, rather, to ask for some land. Our home was, well, we have none now, got in the way of progress, as it was, so..." The man began to step forward toward the dais.
Gaius scowled and spoke up, "The Dorcets' homestead near Coaster was in the path of the Via Arcana."
"I see. Very polite of you not to say that I am the reason you have no home," Visla smiled and the man bowed and edged back toward his wife. "I shall give you a choice then. How many acres was it that they lost?"
"Ten and three-quarters."
"Very well, Mr. and Mrs. Dorcet, you may have ten and three-quarters of the acreage from my family's estate in Lombry, if that is to your liking, or you may have thirty acres in Umberland."
The man turned to his wife, who pursed her lips and shrugged her shoulders in a sort of bemused acceptance.
"Truly?" she asked for herself.
"Lady Eraclaire's word is Law, she speaks only the truth by very--"
"Yes, truly," Visla cut her overbearing courtier short. "Umberland needs hardy and loyal subjects like yourselves, but I would not force the frontier upon you."
Minutes later the couple strolled into the crowded courtyard with Salvarian deed in hand, the infernal script of their land grant still burning from Gaius' pen. The smiles on their faces inspired even more pushing and shoving in the crowd, as dozens clamored to be heard.
Beyond the walls of the courtyard, over the cliffs and beyond the waves, the sun shone bright and cleared the mist from Estervale below.